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DR.   SAMUEL  JOHNSON. 
(In  the  dress  worn  by  him  in  his  journey  to  the  Hebrides.) 


MACAULAY'S  AND  CARLYLE'S 

ESSAYS 


ON 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON 


EDITED   WITH   INTRODUCTION   AND   NOTES   BY 

WILLIAM  STRUNK,  Jr. 

Instructor  in  English,  Cornell  University 


NEW  YORK 

HENRY  HOLT  AND  COMPANY 
1895 


Copyright,  1895, 

BY 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO. 


fVLMRY  MORSE:  STtPHfiM 


THE   MERSHON   COMPANY   PRESS, 
RAHWAY,   N.   J, 


fR  IS^S 

h^z. 

W^S 

MAtrs/ 

CONTENTS. 

lODUi 

CTION  : 

PAGE 

I. 

Johnson  and   Boswell,     . 

V 

II. 

Sketch  of  Macaulay's  Life, 

ix 

III. 

Macaulay  and  Croker,     . 

xii 

IV. 

Remarks  on  Macaulay's  Essay, 

xvii 

V. 

Sketch  of  Carlyle's  Life, 

XXV 

VI. 

The  Relation  between  the  two 

Essays,       .            xxxi 

VII. 

Remarks  on  Carlyle's  Essay, 

o     xxxiii 

Text  : 

Samuel  Johnson,  by  Thomas  Babington  Macaulay, 
Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson,  by  Thomas  Carlyle, 

Notes  : 

Notes  on  Macaulay's  Essay,     ..... 
Notes  on  Carlyle's  Essay,    .         .         .         .         . 


65 


i5g 

178 


514668 


INTRODUCTION, 


I.  Johnson  and  Boswell. 

[The  first  great  authorities  for  the  lives  of  the  two  are  Bos- 
well's  Life  of  Johnson  and  Tour  to  the^Iebrides .  Besides  the 
great  literary  excellence  of  these  works,  their  veracity  and  accuracy 
are  unquestioned.  The  other  sources  for  Johnson's  biography, 
mentioned  in  the  two  essays,  add  little  to  what  Boswell  tells,  and 
are  of  interest  chiefly  to  annotators  of  the  Life.  Mrs.  Thrale 
gives  some  anecdotes  not  found  elsewhere,  it  is  true,  but  her  book 
has  no  serious  value  ;  it  is  merely  amusing.  Hawkins  is  proverb- 
ially dull,  and  has  an  air  of  giving  information  at  second  hand. 
Tyers  gives  merely  a  rambling  collection  of  gossip,  told  in  com- 
monplace fashion.  Murphy,  a  professional  man  of  letters  and  a 
personal  friend,  wrote  a  life  of  Johnson  as  one  of  his  literary  com- 
missions, just  as  he  had  previously  written  a  life  of  Fielding  ;  sat- 
isfactory performances  in  their  day,  but  now  long  obsolete. 

Apart  from  his  relation  to  Johnson,  Boswell  must  be  studied  in 
the  account  of  his  life  prefixed  to  Boswelliana  :  the  Commonplace 
Book  of  James  Boswell,  edited  by  the  Rev.  Charles  Rogers, 
London,  1874  (printed  for  the  Grampian  Club).  Leslie  Stephen 
has  supplied  a  briefer  account  to  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biog- 
raphy. The  shorter  lives  of  Johnson  are  by  Macaulay  in  the 
Britannica,  by  Leslie  Stephen  in  the  Dictio7iary  of  National 
Biography  and  the  English  Men  of  Letters  series,  and  by  Lieut. - 
Col.  F.  Grant  in  the  Great  Writers  series.  The  latter  work  con- 
tains a  bibliography  to  the  year  1887.  The  leading  incidents  in 
the  lives  of  both  are  reviewed  in  Minto's  English  Prose.\ 


VI 


INTRODUCTION. 


It  is  not  intended  here  to  offer  any  substitute  for 
an  acquaintance  with  Boswell.  The  following  table 
of  dates  is  for  convenient  reference. 

Johnson.  Boswell. 

1709.   Born   at  Lichfield,  Sept. 

18. 
1 71 2,  Touched  for  the  scrofula 

by  Queen  Anne. 

1728.  Enters  Pembroke  Col- 
lege, Oxford,  Oct.  31. 
Translates  into  Latin  Pope's 
Messiah. 

1729.  Returns  home  in  De- 
cember. 

1 73 1.  Death  of  his  father. 

1732,  Usher  at  Market  Bos- 
worth. 

1734.  Begins  residence  at  Bir- 
mingham. 

1735.  Publishes  Lobos  Abys- 
sinia ;  marries  Mrs.  Eliza- 
beth Porter  ;  opens  a  school 
at  Edial. 

1737.  Removes  to  London  with 
Mrs.  Johnson,  after  a  pre- 
liminary visit  with  Garrick. 

1738.  Begins  writing  for  The 
Gentlejiian' s  Magazine.  Pub- 
lishes london. 

1740-1743.   Reports  the  Z>^(^a/^j       1740.   Born      at      Edinburgh, 
of  parliament  in  The  Gentle-  Oct.  29. 

7nan's  Magazine. 

1744.  Life  of  Savage. 

1747.  Addresses  to  Lord  Ches- 
terfield the  Plan  for  a  Dic- 
tionary of  the  English  Lan- 
guage. 


INTRODUCTION. 


Vll 


1 748-1 75 5.  Writes  the  Dic- 
tionary. 

1749.  Publishes  The  Vanity  of 
Human  Wishes  ;  Irene  acted 
(written  in  1737). 

1750-52.  Publishes  The  Ram- 
bler. 

175 1.   Death  of  Mrs.  Johnson. 

1755.  Letter  to  Lord  Chester- 
field ;  degree  of  j\L  A,  from 
Oxford  ;  the  Dictionary  pub- 
lished. 

1758-1760.    The  Idler. 

1759.  Death  of  his  mother  ; 
publishes  Rasselas. 


1762.  Pensioned. 

1763.  Meets  Boswell. 

1764.  Founding  of  the  Literaiy 
Club. 

1765.  Degree  of  LL.  D.  from 
Dublin  ;  meets  the  Th  rales 
(perhaps  in  1764)  ;  publishes 
his  edition  of  Shakespeare. 


1773.  Tour  to  Scotland  and  the 
Hebrides  with  Boswell. 


1759-60.  Studies  civil  law  at 
Glasgow  University. 

1760.  First  visit  to  London. 

1 761.  His  first  publications, 
an  Elegy  and  an  Ode. 

1763.  Meets  Johnson ;  goes 
to  Utrecht  for  study. 

1764-1766,  Travels  in  Ger- 
many, Switzerland  Italy, 
Corsica,  and  France. 


1766.  Admitted  to  the  Scotch 
Bar  as  advocate. 

1768.  Account  of  Corsica. 

1769.  Visits  London  ;  attends 
the  Stratford  Jubilee  ;  mar- 
ries his  cousin,  Margaret 
Montgomerie. 

1773.  Elected  a  member  of 
the  Club  ;  tour  with  John- 
son. 


Vlll 


INTRODUCTION 


1774.  Tour  to  North  Wales. 

1775.  Publishes  \\\q. Joiirney  2i\\^S. 
Taxation  no  Tyranny ;  de- 
gree of  D.  C.  L.  from  Oxford  ; 
visits  Paris  with  the  Thrales. 

1777-81.  Writes  and  publishes 
The  Lives  of  the  Poets. 

1784.   Death,  London,  Dec,  13. 


1 775-1 785.  Visits  London  each 
year,  excepting  1777,  1780, 
and  1782. 


[782.  Death  of  his  father. 


1784.   Tyers's  Biographical 

Sketch    {Gentleman' s     Maga- 
zine for  Dec). 


1786.   Mrs.  Thrale's  Anecdotes. 


1787.  Sir  John  Hawkins's  Life 
(two  editions). 

1787-89.  Johnson's  works  ed- 
ited by  Hawkins. 


1792.  Murphy's  Essay  on  the 
Life  and  Genius  of  Johnson^ 
prefixed  to  an  edition  of  his 
works. 


1785.  Journal  of  a  Tourto  The 
Hebrides  (two  editions). 

1786.  Called  to  the  English 
Bar.  Third  edition  of  the 
Tour. 


1789.  Takes  a  house  in  Lon- 
don ;  death  of  his  wife. 
1790.  Publishes  in  advance  7"//^ 
Letter  from  Sam  uel  Johnson 
to  the  Earl  of  Chesterfield^ 
and  A  Conversation  between 
George  III.  and  Samuel 
Johnson. 

1 79 1.    The    Life    of    Samuel 
Johnson. 


1793.  Second    edition    of   the 

Life. 
1795.   Death,  London,  May  19. 


WTRODUCTION.  IX 

II.  Sketch  of  Macaulay's  Life. 

[Macaulay's  life  has  been  related  in  full,  with  selections  from 
his  diary  and  letters,  by  his  nephew.  Sir  George  Otto  Trevelyan, 
2  vols.,  1876,  This  is  the  standard  account  of  his  life,  and  more- 
over one  of  the  most  interesting  and  readable  of  biographies. 
Macaulay's  connection  with  the  Edinburgh  Review  may  be  fol- 
lowed in  Selections  from  the  Correspondence  of  the  late  Macvey 
Napier^  1879.  For  an  estimate  of  his  place  in  literature  the 
reader  is  referred  to  Bagehot's  Literary  Studies^  or  Leslie 
Stephen's  Half  Hours  in  a  Library,  or  to  the  shorter  biographies, 
by  J.  Cotter  Morison  in  the  English  Men  of  Letters,  by  Mark 
Pattison  in  the  Britannica,  and  by  Leslie  Stephen  in  the  Dictionary 
of  National  Biography,  A  summary  of  the  facts  of  his  life  is 
given  by  Professor  Minto  in  the  Manual  of  English  Prose  Liter- 
ature. The  present  remarks  are  intended  merely  to  give  the 
reader  a  notion  of  Macaulay's  circumstances  and  influence  at  the 
time  of  writing  this  essay  in  1831.] 

Macaulay  was  born  in  Leicestershire  in  1800.  His 
father,  Zachary  Macaulay,  was  accounted  a  distin- 
guished man.  He  was  a  leading  agitator  for  the 
abolition  of  the  slave  trade,  edited  the  organ  of  the 
movement,  The  CJwistian  Observer^  and  had  been 
governor  of  Sierra  Leone.  He  was  an  educated 
man,  practised  in  historical  and  political  questions, 
and  rigid  in  his  notions  of  morality  and  propriety. 
His  son's  fondness  for  poetry  and  light  reading  gave 
him  many  qualms  of  conscience,  which  young 
Macaulay  had  constantly  to  contend  against,  as 
appears  from  several  letters  published  by  Trevelyan. 
Macaulay's  mother  was  a  cultured  gentlewoman,  who 
supervised  her  son's  early  reading,  and  criticised  his 
juvenile  productions. 

The  boy's  early  reading  was  voluminous.     At  six 


X  INTRODUCTION. 

he  had  begun  to  receive  pocket-money  for  the  pur- 
chase of  books.  At  eight  he  had  "nearly  exhausted 
the  epics,"  and  could  recite  by  heart  Scott's  Lay 
and  Marmion^  at  that  time  the  freshest  additions  to 
English  literature.  About  the  same  time  he  compiled 
for  himself  an  epitome  of  universal  history,  from  the 
Creation  to  the  year  1800,  and  wrote  several  heroic 
and  romantic  poems,  inspired  by  his  reading  of  Scott. 
Already  he  bore  some  resemblance  to  the  Macaulay 
of  maturer  years,  whose  intellectual  characteristics 
were  vast  reading,  prodigious  memory,  and  fluency 
in  composition. 

Macaulay  received  his  earliest  instruction  at  a 
small  school  in  Clapham,  and  at  twelve  entered  a  pri- 
vate school  conducted  by  the  Rev.  Mr.  Preston.  He 
went  into  residence  at  Trinity  College,  Cambridge, 
at  eighteen.  Here  he  devoted  himself  to  the  classics, 
expressing  great  distaste  for  mathematical  studies. 
He  twice  gained  the  chancellor's  medal  for  English 
verse,  and  won  other  minor  distinctions,  but  his 
neglect  of  the  mathematics  barred  him  from  the  highest 
honors.  In  1824,  two  years  after  his  graduation,  he 
was  made  a  Fellow. 

In  1823  Knight's  Quarterly  Magazine  began,  with 
Cambridge  men  as  chief  contributors,  and  Macaulay 
as  the  chief  of  these.  His  contributions  attracted 
the  notice  of  Jeffrey,  who  invited  him  to  write  for 
the  Edinburgh  Review.  In  August,  1825,  appeared 
Macaulay 's  essay  on  Milton.  The  author  was  at  once 
a  famous  man.  Murray  declared  that  it  would  be 
worth  the  copyright  of  Childe  Harold  to  have  him  on 
the  Quarterly'^  and  Jeffrey,  acknowledging  the  receipt 


IN  TROD  UC7  ion:  XI 

of  the  manuscript,  wrote,  "The  more  I  think,  the  less 
I  can  conceive  where  you  picked  up  that  style." 

In  the  next  succeeding  years  Macaulay's  fame  grew 
steadily.  His  articles  in  the  Review  were  more 
eagerly  read  than  anything  of  the  kind  published  in 
England.  They  were  unsigned,  according  to  the  cus- 
tom of  the  time,  but  their  brilliant,  vigorous  style 
caused  them  to  be  recognised  at  a  glance,  and  the 
sale  of  the  Review  came  to  depend  in  a  measure  on 
the  frequency  of  his  contributions.  A  number  of 
now  famous  articles  appeared  between  the  one  on 
Milton  and  the  present  one  on  Johnson,  among  them 
Dryden^  Byron^  and  Bunyan.  In  the  meantime 
Macaulay  had  been  called  to  the  bar,  but  he  neglected 
law  for  literature  and  politics.  In  January,  1828,  he 
was  made  a  commissioner  of  bankruptcy,  at  an  annual 
salary  of  ;^4oo.  Three  political  essays,  published  in 
1829,  attracted  the  favorable  notice  of  Lord  Lans- 
downe,  who  in  1830  offered  him  a  seat  in  parliament, 
as  the  representative  of  the  "pocket  borough"  of 
Calne.  In  the  House  he  rose  rapidly  into  prominence 
by  his  speeches  on  the  Reform  Bill. 

In  1 83 1  the  remuneration  for  his  writings  had  be- 
come for  a  time  Macaulay's  only  source  of  income. 
He  had  lost  all  expectations  from  his  father's  estate, 
once  estimated  at  ;^ioo,ooo  but  now  swept  away  by 
business  reverses,  he  had  in  1830  helped  by  his  vote 
and  influence  to  abolish  his  office  as  commissioner  of 
bankruptcy,  and  he  now  saw  his  annual  ;!^30o  of  fel- 
lowship money  expiring.  Under  this  pressure,  not- 
withstanding his  active  political  life,  Macaulay  was 
now  doing  his  hardest  work  on  the  Review^  sending 


XII  INTRODUCTION. 

in  an  article  to  each  number.  During  the  rest  of  his 
life  his  reputation  continued  to  develop,  but  it  is 
doubtful  whether  his  direct  personal  influence  as  a 
reviewer  could  ever  have  been  greater  than  at  this 
time.  His  article  on  Robert  Montgomery  destroyed 
a  reputation;  his  praise  of  Bunyan  set  everyone  to 
re-reading  The  Filgrini's  Progress.  Croker's  cento  of 
the  biographies  of  Johnson  was  never  reprinted. 

It  will  be  sufficient  to  remind  the  reader  that  much 
that  is  associated  with  Macaulay's  name  comes  after 
the  date  of  the  present  essay:  in  literature,  many  of 
his  best-known  essays,  among  them  those  dealing  with 
Walpole,  Chatham,  Bacon,  Clive,  Hastings,  Addison, 
and  Mme.  D'Arblay,  the  Lays  of  Ancient  Ro?ne, 
several  lives  in  the  Briianfiica,  and  the  History  of 
England,  and  in  his  life,  the  two  landmarks  of  his 
service  in  India  (i 834-1 838)  and  his  elevation  to  the 
peerage  (1857).     He  died  in  1859. 

III.  Macaulay  and  Croker. 

~[For  Croker's  career  the  chief  source  of  information  is  Croker's 
Correspondence  and  Diaries,  edited  by  Louis  J.  Jennings,  3  vols., 
1884.  A  more  condensed  account,  by  Sir  Theodore  Martin,  is  to 
be  found  in  the  Dictionary  of  National  Biography.  Both  writers 
do  Croker  more  than  justice  in  the  story  of  the  controversy  over 
the  edition  of  Boswell.] 

John  Wilson  Croker  was  twenty  years  Macaulay's 
senior.  He  was  his  foremost  antagonist  in  debate  and 
almost  his  only  personal  enemy,  from  the  time  when 
the  younger  of  the  two  entered  the  House  of  Com- 
mons, Croker's  biographers  have  done  their  best  to 
present  him  in  a  favorable  light:  he  was  certainly  a 


INTRODUCTION.  XIU 

hard-working,  conscientious  public  servant,  and  an 
enthusiastic  student  of  literature  and  history,  but  his 
harshness  and  cynicism  cannot  be  entirely  disguised. 
The  long  feud  between  Macaulay  and  Croker,  begun 
in  the  House  and  intensified  by  the  appearance  of  the 
essay  on  Johnson,  is  an  unpleasant  chapter  in  literary 
history,  to  be  revived  here  only  so  far  as  is  necessary 
to  an  appreciation  of  Macaulay's  language  and  of  its 
effect. 

Croker  had  been  in  parliament  since  1807.  In 
debate  he  was  the  mainstay  of  the  Tgry  side.  He 
was  now  (1831)  a  prominent  opponent  of  the  Reform 
Bill,  and  in  this  capacity  had  had  frequent  sharp 
encounters  with  Macaulay,  in  some  of  which  the 
member  for  Calne  had  been  worsted,  and  his  argu- 
ments stigmatized  as  "vague  generalities  handled  with 
that  brilliant  imagination  which  tickles  the  ear  and 
amuses  the  fancy  without  satisfying  the  reason." 
Macaulay  was  presumably  anxious  for  revenge. 

Croker's  project  of  editing  Boswell  was  proposed 
to  Mr.  Murray  in  January,  1829.  The  work  of  col- 
lection and  preparation  occupied  the  next  two  years. 
The  book  appeared  June  22,  1831. 

In  March,  1831,  Macaulay  had  written  to  Macvey 
Napier,  Jeffrey's  successor  as  editor  of  the  Ediiibiirgh 
Review^  "I  will  certainly  review  Croker's  Boswell 
when  it  comes  out."  On  June  29,  he  wrote  in  a  letter 
to  his  sister  Hannah,  "I  am  to  review  Croker's  edi- 
tion of  Bozzy.  It  is  wretchedly  ill  done.  The  notes 
are  poorly  written  and  shamefully  inaccurate.  There 
is,  however,  much  curious  information  in  it.  The 
whole  of  'The  Tour  to  the  Hebrides'  is  incorporated 


XIV  INTRODUCTION. 

with  'The  Life.'  So  are  most  of  Mrs.  Thrale's  anec- 
dotes, and  much  of  Sir  John  Hawkins's  lumbering 
book.  The  whole  makes  five  large  volumes."  He 
then  goes  on  to  exjDlain  to  her  two  of  Boswell's  anec- 
dotes, by  means  of  Croker's  notes.  Some  weeks  later 
he  writes,  in  reference  to  one  of  his  own  speeches  in 
the  House,  "I  ought  to  tell  you  that  Peel  was  very 
civil,  and  cheered  me  loudly,  and  that  impudent, 
leering  Croker  congratulated  the  House  on  the  proof 
which  I  had  given  of  my  readiness.  He  was  afraid, 
he  said,  that  I  had  been  silent  so  long  on  account  of 
the  many  allusions  which  had  been  made  to  Calne. 
Now  that  I  had  risen  again,  he  hoped  that  they  should 
hear  me  oftener.  See  whether  I  do  not  dust  that 
varlet's  jacket  for  hiil\  "in  the  next  number  of  the 
Blue  and  Yellow.*  I  detest  him  more  than  cold 
boiled  veal."  On  the  9th  of  t>eptember  he  writes  to 
her,  "Half  my  article  on  Bos  well  went  to  Edinburgh 
yesterday.  I  have,  though  I  say  it  who  should  not 
say  it,  beaten  Croker  black  and  blue." 

The  article  appeared  in  the  September  number  of 
the  Review^  1831.  The  other  magazines  had  spoken 
favorably;  the  Quarterly  Review^  for  instance  (which 
Croker  had  helped  to  found  in  1808,  and  to  which 
he  was  still  one  of  the  principal  contributors),  calling 
the  new  work, "the  best  edition  of  an  English  book 
that  has  appeared  in  our  time."  In  October, 
Macaulay  wrote  to  his  friend  T.  F.  Ellis,  "My  article 
on  Croker  has  .  .  .  smashed  his  book  .  .  .  Croker 
looks  across  the  House  of  Commons  at  me  with  a 

*  So  the  Review  was  familiarly  called.  Its  cover  was  dark  blue, 
with  a  yellow  back. 


IN  TR  OD  UC  TION.  XV 

leer  of  hatred  which  I  repay  with  a  gracious  smile  of 
pity." 

Croker  was  not  to  be  smashed  without  a  struggle. 
In  BlackwQod' s  for  November  {Nodes  A??ibrosian(B^ 
No.  LIX.)  his  friend  J.  G.  Lockhart  replied  in  his 
behalf.  Lockhart  answered  Macaulay  only  in  part, 
defending  Croker' s  accuracy^  not  his  editorial  method. 
In  actual  defense  there  was  little  to  be  said,  but  he 
made  a  lively  counter-attack,  in  which  he  easily 
showed  that  Macaulay,  while  triumphing  over  minor 
errors  of  Croker  as  "scandalous  inaccuracy,"  had 
himself  made  not  a  few  of  the  same  kind. 

Croker  afterwards  wrote  and  distributed  privately 
a  pamphlet  in  his  own  defense,  based  on  Lockhart's 
article,  but  Macaulay  did  not  deign  a  retort,  partly,  it 
seems,  from  the  belief  that  his  original  antagonist  in 
the  Nodes  had  been  not  Lockhart,  but  Wilson  ('  'Chris- 
topher North"),  who  had  assailed  him  ferociously  for 
another  of  his  essays  two  years  before. 

Croker's  turn  came  in  1849.  When  the  first  two 
volumes  of  Macaulay 's  History  of  England  were  pub- 
lished, he  declared  in  the  Quarterly  that  the  book 
would  "never  be  quoted  as  authority  on  any  ques- 
tion or  point  in  the  history  of  England,"  and  explained 
its  popularity  by  comparing  it  to  Waverley.  He  also 
impeached  the  author's  style,  accuracy,  and  fairness. 
Trevelyan  informs  us  that  Croker's  article  was  "a 
farrago  of  angry  trash,"  and  "so  bitter,  so  foolish, 
and,  above  all,  so  tedious,  that  scarcely  anybody 
could  get  through  it,  and  nobody  was  convinced  by 
it."     But  Sir  George  was  hardly  open  to  conviction. 

To  return  to  the  controversy  over  Croker's  Boswell. 


XVI  IN  TROD  UCTION. 

The  inaccuracies,  which  Macaulay  was  at  such  pains 
to  expose  and  denounce,  were  after  all  only  trivial. 
The  gravamen  of  the  charge  against  Croker  should 
have  been,  not  the  blundering  way  in  which  he  pur- 
sued his  plan  of  editing,  but  the  nature  of  the  plan 
itself.  He  deliberately  mangled  an  English  classic 
by  inserting  passages  from  other  books.  Macaulay 
indeed  does  not  let  this  go  unmentioned,  but  he  is 
here  far  from  showing  proper  indignation.  Carlyle, 
with  a  truer  literary  sense  than  Macaulay,  ignores 
Croker's  errors  in  dates  and  genealogies  as  too  petty 
for  discussion,  and  arraigns  him  for  his  vicious  edi- 
torial method. 

It  is  evident  that  Macaulay' s  plan  of  attack  was 
dictated  by  personal  hostility.  He  lays  less  stress 
on  Croker's  serious  offence,  an  error  of  judgment, 
and  dwells  at  length  upon  trifles  of  scholarship,  in 
order  to  humiliate  Croker  by  making  him  out  an 
ignoramus.  He  exaggerates  the  importance  of  slight 
mistakes  in  order  to  indulge  a  personal  animosity 
against  the  offender.  And  while  so  doing,  he  makes 
several  mistakes  on  his  own  account. 

As  Macaulay  acknowledged  to  his  sister,  Croker 
had  collected  from  Johnson's  surviving  contempo- 
raries, and  from  other  sources,  "much  curious  infor- 
mation," which  has  been  drawn  upon  by  all  succeed- 
ing editors.  The  condemnation  by  Macaulay  and 
Carlyle  caused  the  subsequent  withdrawal  of  the 
interpolations,  which  were  relegated  to  an  appendix, 
all  except  the  Tow^  which  was  perversely  retained 
in  the  midst  of  the  Life.  Croker  lived  to  issue  two 
more  editions  of  Boswell,  in  1835   and   1848,  and  his 


INTRODUCTION.  XVll 

edition  has  been  three  times  reprinted  in  England 
since  his  death.  In  its  various  forms,  between  forty 
and  fifty  thousand  copies  of  his  work  have  been 
sold. 

IV.  Remarks  on  Macaulay's  Essay. 

Structure.  The  essay  consists  of  three  sections. 
The  first  disposes  of  Croker.  A  single  paragraph, 
commending  the  book  that  Croker  has  edited,  fur- 
nishes the  transition  to  the  second  section,  which  dis- 
cusses Boswell.  The  third  and  principal  section 
discusses  Johnson. 

In  the  third  section  the  form  of  writing  is  mainly 
generalized  description.  The  introductory  paragraph 
gives  a  striking  portrait  of  Johnson,  unsurpassed  in 
Macaulay's  writings  for  rapid  and  effective  enumera- 
tion of  details.  This  is  followed  by  two  descriptions, 
the  first  of  the  Grub  Street  author,  to  whom  Johnson 
is  assumed  to  have  borne  a  resemblance  in  the  days 
of  his  early  obscurity  in  London,  the  second  of  John- 
son himself,  as  he  appeared  in  society  during  his 
last  twenty  years.  The  first  is  located  in  time  by  the 
words,  "Johnson  came  to  London,"  the  second  by 
the  words,  "A  pension  had  been  conferred  upon 
him."  These  are  the  only  biographical  details  af- 
forded. Macaulay  assumes  in  the  reader  an  acquaint- 
ance with  Johnson's  life  and  works. 

The  essay  contains  nothing  resembling  the  digres- 
sions of  either  DeQuincey  or  Carlyle.  Macaulay  as 
a  rule  keeps  close  to  his  subject.  In  the  present  essay 
the  only  exception  is  the  paragraph  beginning,  "How 


XVI 11  IN  TROD  UC  TION. 

it  chanced"  (p.  51),  in  which  the  author  palpably 
goes  out  of  his  way  to  condemn  the  reasoning  of  the 
schoolmen,  and  to  aim  a  deliberate  side-thrust  at  cer- 
tain "eminent  lawyers,"  his  fellow  members  in  the 
House. 

Matter.  Macaulay  does  not  do  justice  to  either 
Johnson  or  Boswell.  Carlyle's  essay  was  a  reply  on 
behalf  of  both.  In  his  life  of  Johnson,  contributed 
in  1856  to  the  Encyclopcsdia  Britaimica^  Macaulay 
made  reparation  for  his  criticisms  on  the  former. 
Certain  specific  statements  in  the  essay  are  elaborately 
refuted  by  G.  B.  Hill,  in  two  chapters  of  his  Dr.  John- 
son :  his  Friends  and  his  Critics^  1878.  Macaulay's 
treatment  of  both  his  subjects  is  unsympathetic. 
Despite  his  fondness  for  literature  and  for  literary 
illustration,  his  turn  of  mind  was  matter  of  fact,  prac- 
tical. He  found  Johnson  and  Boswell  in  no  way  like 
his  colleagues  in  parliament  or  the  earls  and  ambas- 
sadors whom  he  met  at  Holland  House,  and  he  was 
unable  to  enter  into  sympathy  with  them. 

Further,  hi^lQ^ye  of  paradox  led  him  to  exaggerate 
Boswell's  meanness  in  order  to  contrast  it  with  his 
genius  (though  he  nowhere  uses  so  complimentary  a 
term),  and  to  heighten  Johnson's  superstition,  rude- 
ness, and  intolerance,  in  order  to  contrast  them  with 
his  incredulity,  his  benevolence,  and  his  enlighten- 
ment. 

Furthermore,  his  habit  of  exaggeration  and  his 
fondness  for  strong  effect  led  him  to  misrepresent 
facts.  Macaulay's  perversions  of  Boswell's  anecdotes 
are  irritating  when  compared  with  their  originals. 
Thus : 


IN  TR  OD  UC  TIOiV.  X  l  X 

Johnson  described  him  [Boswell]  as  a  fellow  who  had  missed 
his  only  chance  of  immortality  by  not  having  been  alive  when  the 
"  Dunciad  "  was  written,     (p.  26.) 

Turning  to  the  Life^  Oct.  16,  1769,  we  find: 

He  [Johnson]  repeated  to  us,  in  his  forcible,  melodious  manner, 
the  concluding  lines  of  the  Dwiciad.  ^Yhile  he  was  talking  loudly 
in  praise  of  those  lines,  one*  of  the  company  ventured  to  say,  'Too 
fine  for  such  a  poem  : — a  poem  on  what  ? '  Johnson,  (with  a 
disdainful  look,)  '  Why,  on  dunces.  It  was  worth  while  being  a 
dunce  then.     Ah,  Sir,  hadst  tJiou  lived  in  those  days  ! ' 

From  this  we  see  that  Johnson  was  not  describing 
Boswell  at  all,  but  merely  rallying  him  to  his  face 
with  a  bit  of  off-hand  banter,  the  petty  punishment 
for  an  interruption.  The  uncomplimentary  term 
"fellow"  is  seen  to  be  an  addition  by  Macaulay,  and 
even  the  main  statement  is  a  distortion.  Another 
instance: 

He  himself  [Johnson]  went  on  a  ghost-hunt  to  Cock  Lane,  and 
was  angry  with  John  Wesley  for  not  following  up  another  scent  of 
the  same  kind  with  the  proper  spirit  and  perseverance,     (p.  47.) 

In  the  Life^  April  15,  1778,  we  read  : 

Of  John  Wesley,  he  said,  '  He  can  talk  well  on  any  subject.' 
Boswell.  '  Pray,  Sir,  what  has  he  made  of  his  story  of  a  ghost?* 
Johnson.  'Why,  Sir,  he  believes  it;  but  not  on  sufficient 
authority  ...  I  am  sorry  that  John  did  not  take  more  pains  to 
inquire  into  the  evidence  for  it.' 

W^as  Johnson  aiigj-y  with  John  Wesley?  Nothing  in 
the  text  justifies  so  strong  a  term.  Moreover,  the 
story  is  in  direct  opposition  to  Macaulay's  interpreta- 

*  Evidently  Boswell.  He  does  not  give  hi^s  name,  b?rause  the 
joke  is  on  himself, 


XX  INTRODUCTION. 

tion.  It  is  cited  as  evidence  for  Johnson's  supersti- 
tious belief  in  ghosts;  it  turns  out  to  illustrate  his 
very  rational  incredulity  on  the  subject. 

Originality.  This  is  not  Macaulay's  strong  point. 
His  essay  represents  no  deeper  insight  into  Johnson's 
character;  it  is  merely  a  skillful  and  lucid  statement 
of  the  difficulties  which  his  character  presents  at  first 
sight.  "Macaulay's  Boswell,"  says  Garnett  in  his 
Carlyle,  "is  the  Boswell  of  his  neighbors."  Most  of 
Macaulay's  judgments  on  the  two  can  be  found,  some- 
times in  almost  the  same  words,  in  earlier  writers.  A 
few  illustrations  will  help  to  make  this  evident.     Thus: 

Sometimes  Johnson  translated  aloud.  "  '  The  Rehearsal,'  "  he 
said,  very  unjustly,  "  has  not  wit  enough  to  keep  it  sweet  ;  "  then, 
after  a  pause,  "it  has  not  enough  vitality  to  preserve  it  from 
putrefaction."     (p.  6i.) 

From  the  Z//>,  June  19,  1784,  we  see  that  this  criti- 
cism is  taken  bodily  from  Boswell: 

He  seemed  to  take  a  pleasure  in  speaking  in  his  own  style,  for 
when  he  had  carelessly  missed  it,  he  would  repeat  the  thought  trans- 
lated into  it.  Talking  of  the  Comedy  of  the  Rehearsal,  he  said, 
'  It  has  not  wit  enough  to  keep  it  sweet.'  This  was  easy  ;  he 
therefore  caught  himself,  and  pronounced  a  more  round  sentence  ; 
I '  It  has  not  enough  vitality  to  preserve  it  from  putrefaction.' 

Again,  Macaulay  writes: 

The  habits  of  his  [Johnson's]  early  life  had  accustomed  him  to 
bear  privation  with  fortitude,  but  not  to  taste  pleasure  with  mod- 
eration,    (p.  43.) 

This,  with  the  sentence  which  succeeds  it,  is  a  repro- 
duction of  what  Boswell  writes  in  the  Life^  March  20, 
1781: 


IN  TROD  UC  TION.  x  x  i 

Ever)'thing  about  his  character  and  manners  was  forcible  and 
violent  ;  there  never  was  any  moderation  ;  many  a  day  did  he 
fast,  many  a  year  did  he  refrain  from  wine  ;  but  when  he  did  eat, 
it  was  voraciously  ;  when  he  did  drink  wine,  it  was  copiously. 
He  could  practice  abstinence,  but  not  temperance. 

Further,  compare  Macaulay's  remarks  on  Johnson's 
"little  talent  for  personation"  (p.  62)  with  the  fol- 
lowing from  Courtenay's  Poetical  Review  of  t/ie 
Literary  and  Moral  Character  of  the  late  Samuel  JoJm- 
son  (1786): 

But  all  propriety  his  Ramblers  mock. 

Where  Betty  prates  from  Newton  and  from  Locke  ; 

When  no  diversity  we  trace  between 

The  lofty  moralist  and  gay  fifteen. 

Many  of  Macaulay's  strictures  on  Boswell  are  antici- 
pated by  Boswell  himself,  who  clearly  foresaw  the  hue 
and  cry  that  would  be  raised  against  him;  nearly  all 
the  hard  names  applied  to  Boswell  in  the  essay  can  be 
found  in  the  contemporary  lampoons*  of  John  Wol- 
cot  ("Peter  Pindar"). 

Still,  Macaulay  remains  a  great  writer;  it  matters 
little  to  his  readers  that  his  opinions  can  be  found, 
less  forcibly  expressed,  either  in  Boswell  or  in  poems 
that  have  passed  out  of  remembrance.  ^^^lat  he 
repeats,  he  repeats  in  a  new  and  attractive  form ; 
the  coins  of  his  mintage  glitter  far  more  than  the 
old-fashioned  jewelry  he  has  melted  down. 

Style.     The  student  is  referred  to  Minto's  English 

*  A  Poetical  and  Congratulatory  Epistle  to  fames  Boswell,  Esq. 
(1785  ?)y  Bozzy  and  Piozzi,  or  the  British  Biographers  :  A  Town 
Eclogue  (1786). 


X  xii  •  IN  TROD  UCTIOAT. 

Prose  for  a  full  discussion.  A  few  striking  peculiar- 
ities are  mentioned  here,  with  express  reference  to 
the  present  essay. 

1.  Clearness.  Macaulay  is  admirably  clear.  His 
professed  aim  was  to  write  no  sentence  that  did  not 
disclose  its  meaning  on  first  reading.  Trevelyan 
accounts  for  his  success  in  making  himself  clear,  by 
his  custom  of  talking  and  writing  to  children.  It  is  to 
be  noted  that  Macaulay's  style  is  that  of  an  orator;  he 
became  a  debater  at  Cambridge.  The  orator,  whose 
language  must  be  understood  while  it  is  delivered, 
feels  the  importance  of  clearness  more  strongly  than 
the  writer  of  printed  literature. 

Regard  for  clearness  determines  several  marked 
features  of  Macaulay's  style.  One  is  his  frequent 
repetition  of  a  thought  from  different  points  of  view. 
Notice,  for  instance,  the  first  three  sentences  of  the 
paragraph  beginning,  "Johnson  decided  literary  ques- 
tions" (p.  53),  and  the  passage,  "He  was  no  master," 
etc.,  to  "he  knew  nothing"  (p.  55).  Another  is  his 
fondness  for  illustration.  Almost  every  statement  is 
supported  either  by  evidence  or  by  one  or  more 
parallels.  Note  the  list  of  government  appointments 
held  by  English  authors  (p.  35),  and  the  appeal  to 
Roman  and  Greek  epitaphs  (p.  55).  Negative  aids  to 
clearness  are  the  in  frequency  of  metaphor  and  the 
almost  total  absence  of  digression. 

2.  Force.  Rhetorically,  Macaulay's  force  lies  chiefly 
in  his  preference  for  the  short  sentence,  in  his  use  of 
repeated  structure,  and  in  his  strong  sense  of  contrast, 
which  makes  antithesis  his  favorite  figure. 

In  the   first   particular  he   is   strikingly   unlike   De 


tNTROD  UCtlON.  xxiii 

Quincey.  Macaulay  may  be  said  to  give  us  not  so 
much  sentences  as  detached  parts  of  sentences,  omit- 
ting the  connectives,  as  "because,  therefore,  accord- 
ingly, moreover,  for,  and,"  which  indicate  the  mutual 
relations  of  clauses.  He  thereby  gains  in  vigor, 
but  he  loses  in  delicacy  and  in  perspective.  Note  the 
last  four  sentences  of  the  paragraph  beginning,  "The 
course  which  Mr.  Croker"  (p.  23),  or  the  following 
extreme  case,  from  the  essay  on  Hampden: 

The  Puritans  were  persecuted  with  cruelty  worthy  of  the  Holy 
Office.  They  were  forced  to  fly  from  the  country.  They  were 
imprisoned.  They  were  whipped.  Their  ears  were  cut  off. 
Their  noses  were  slit.     Their  cheeks  were  branded  with  red-hot 


The  paragraph  is  then  concluded  by  means  of  longer 
sentences. 

Macaulay' s  use  of  repeated  structure  and  of  antith- 
esis does  not  require  illustration. 

3.  Paragraphs.  Unity  in  the  paragraph  is  usually 
observed.  There  is  one  exception  in  the  present 
essay,  the  long  paragraph  beginning,  "Johnson  came 
among  them"  (pp.  42-5),  which  contains  material  for 
two  paragraphs,  one  on  Johnson's  physical  habits,  the 
other  on  his  harshness  and  his  insensibility  to  distress. 

Characteristic  of  Macaulay  is  the  alternating  struc- 
ture of  many  of  his  paragraphs :  they  are  more  or  less 
antithetic  in  arrangement.  The  simplest  and  com- 
monest form  is  begun  by  a  series  of  remarks  that  leads 
us  to  expect  a  conclusion  directly  opposite  to  the  one 
reached.  In  the  centre  of  the  paragraph  we  find  the 
word  "but,"  "y^^"  or  "however,"  after  which  the 
real  theme  of  the  paragraph  is  taken  up  and  carried 


XXIV  INTRODUC  7  'ION. 

through  to  the  end.  Examples  are  the  paragraphs 
beginning,  "Many  of  his  sentiments"  (p.  48),  "No- 
body spoke  more  contemptuously"  (p.  49),  "As- 
suredly one  fact"  (p.  59),  "Mannerism  is  pardonable" 
(p.  61).  Note  the  last  example,  contrasting  it  with, 
"He  was  undoubtedly,  etc."  (p.  54)  and  see  how 
a  transposition  of  members  may  be  made  to  produce 
a  second,  more  involved,  paragraph-structure.  A 
third  variant  appears  in  the  paragraph  beginning,  "On 
men  and  manners"  (p.  55),  where  the  force  of  the 
word  "indeed"  is  concessive  (equivalent  to  an  "al- 
though" at  the  beginning  of  the  sentence).  Omitting 
the  third  and  fourth  sentences  and  the  introductory 
"but"  of  the  fifth,  we  have  left  a  complete  paragraph 
that  moves  in  a  straight  line  with  no  trace  of  the  man- 
nerism in  question.  Macaulay,  however,  enlivens  it 
by  stopping  half-way  from  his  conclusion,  making  a 
false  start  in  the  opposite  direction,  then  turning  again 
and  finishing. 

4.  Allusions.  Macaulay 's  wide  reading  enabled  him 
to  illustrate  profusely  .from  literature  and  history  every 
subject  that  he  handled.  He  abounds  in  compari- 
sons. In  imaginative  literature  the  authors  on  whom 
he  draws  most  frequently  are  Shakespeare,  Milton, 
Homer,  and  Dante.  There  are  frequent  references  to 
Biblical  events  and  characters.  Less  numerous,  but 
still  plentiful,  are  allusions  to  Don  Quixote^  the  Arabian 
Nights,  the  Pilgrim' s  Progress,  Tofn  Jo  fie  s,  and  Gtd- 
liver's  Travels. 

Macaulay  sometimes  makes  formal  quotations, 
sometimes  refers  to  familiar  incidents,  but  most  fre- 
quently merely  mentions  the  men  and  women  of  fic- 


IN  TROD  UCTION.  XXV 

tion  as  the  representatives  of  certain  traits  of  char- 
acter. In  the  present  essay,  for  instance,  he  thus 
sets  off  Boswell's  folly  by  contrasting  it  with  that  of 
Alnaschar  and  of  Malvolio.  Most  rarely  he  weaves 
into  his  own  expression  the  phraseology  of  other 
writers.  One  of  the  few  instances  is  the  passage  on 
p.  43,  "by  that  bread,"  etc.,  where  he  uses  the  lan- 
guage of  Dante  and  of  the  Bible.  This  is  the  sort  of 
allusion  in  which  Carlyle  abounds.  Macaulay's  plan 
is  more  entertaining  to  the  majority  of  readers. 

It  is  also  to  be  noted  that  Macaulay  usually  takes 
pains  to  make  his  allusions  self-explanatory,  at  the 
same  time  flattering  the  reader  by  concealing  the 
help.  See  for  instance  p.  55,  where  in  mentioning  the 
comparatively  little-known  Directions  to  Servants^  he 
is  careful  to  remind  the  reader,  but  without  obtruding 
the  information,  that  Swift  is  the  author.  See  also 
p.  36,  "The  supreme  power  passed  to  a  man  who 
cared  little  for  poetry  or  eloquence."  If  the  reader 
is  not  well  enough  informed  to  receive  a  definite  im- 
pression from  this  statement,  he  need  read  only  a  few 
lines  further  on,  to  be  told,  in  the  politest  manner 
possible,  that  the  man  is  Walpole,  who  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  admiring,  in  contemporary  poetry  The 
Seasojis^  and  in  contemporary  "eloquence"  Pamela; 
that  the  former  was  written  by  Thomson,  and  the 
latter  by  Richardson. 

V.   Sketch  of  Carlyle's  Life. 

[The  biography  of  Carlyle  is  by  J.  A.  Froude.  It  is  in  two 
parts  :  Thomas  Ca^'lyle,  a  History  of  the  first  fo7'ty  Years  of  his 
Life,  2  vols.,  1882  ;    Thomas   Carlyle,  a  History  of  his  Life  in 


XXVI  INTRODUCTION. 

London,  2  vols.,  1884.  Besides  the  above  should  be  consulted  his 
Reminiscences,  published  by  Froude  in  1881,  the  Letters  and 
Memorials  of  Jane  Welsh  Carlyle,  prepared  for  publication  by 
Carlyle  and  edited  by  Froude,  3  vols.,  1883,  and  the  Correspond- 
ence of  Thomas  Carlyle  with  R.  W.  Emersoti,  edited  by  Charles 
Eliot  Norton,  2  vols.,  1883.  Further,  the  second  book  of  Sartor 
Resartus  is  autobiographic. 

Carlyle's  life  has  been  written  for  the  Dictionary  of  National 
Biography  by  Leslie  Stephen,  for  the  English  Men  of  Letters 
series  by  Professor  Nichol,  and  for  the  Great  Writers  series  by 
Richard  Garnett.  Professor  Minto  gives  a  short  account  in  his 
English  Prose-I 

Thomas  Carlyle  was  born  in  1795,  at  Ecclefecchan 
in  Dumfriesshire,  Scotland,  on  the  western  side,  a 
few  miles  from  the  English  border.  His  father, 
James  Carlyle,  was  a  mason,  who  had  built  with  his 
own  hands  the  house  in  which  he  lived.  Later  he 
turned  farmer.  He  was  a  stern,  silent,  thrifty  Cal- 
vihist.  Carlyle's  mother  had  received  but  a  limited 
education:  she  could  write  letters  only  with  difficulty; 
she  was  frightened,  "to  distraction  well  nigh,"  when, 
at  the  age  of  twenty-nine,  her  son  made  a  visit  to 
France. 

Carlyle  was  taught  to  read  by  his  mother;  for  fur- 
ther instruction  he  was  sent  to  the  village  school.  At 
seven  the  boy  was  on  examination  "complete"  in 
English  branches,  and  by  advice  of  his  examiner 
sought  Latin  instruction  from  the  son  of  the  minister. 
At  nine  he  was  placed  in  the  grammar  school  of  the 
neighboring  town  of  Annan,  where  he  studied  Latin, 
French,  and  the  rudiments  of  mathematics,  and  gained 
favorable  reports.  Thereupon  it  was  decided  by  his 
parents  that  the  boy  should  have  an  eldest  son's  por- 


IN  TR  OD  UC  TION.  x  x  v  1 1 

tion  in  education :  should  go  to  Edinburgh,  study  at 
the  University,  and  become  a  minister. 

To  Edinburgh  accordingly  Carlyle  was  sent  when 
not  quite  fifteen.  With  an  older  companion  he 
trudged  on  foot  the  hundred  miles  from  his  home  to 
the  capital.  For  the  next  five  years  his  life  was  one 
of  hard  study.  He  had  moderate  success  in  the  clas- 
sics, and  was  an  able  student  of  mathematics.  He 
was  moreover  the  oracle  of  a  little  circle  of  fellow- 
students,  ambitious  peasants'  sons  like  himself,  who 
exchanged  views  on  literature  and  current  affairs,  and 
corresponded  with  each  other  during  the  vacations. 

The  plan  of  entering  the  ministry,  originating  with 
his  parents  and  never  a  fixed  one  with  himself,  Carlyle 
gradually  abandoned.  For  the  first  three  years  after 
graduation,  he  earned  his  support  by  "schoolmaster- 
ing. "  Resigning  his  second  position  (at  Kirkcaldy) 
in  1818,  he  departed  for  Edinburgh  with  ;^9o  of  sav- 
ings. He  intended  to  take  pupils  in  mathematics 
until  he  could  find  some  avenue  to  distinction.  He 
learned  German,  attended  lectures  on  law,  read 
voluminously  in  the  University  library,  found  a  pupil 
or  two,  and  compiled  articles  for  the  Edinburgh  En- 
cyclopadia^  "timorously  aiming  toward  literature." 
He  thus  spent  three  years  in  ill  health  and  desperate 
mood.  In  1822  he  was  relieved  of  his  hack-work  by 
an  appointment  as  tutor  to  the  three  sons  of  the 
Bullers,  a  retired  Anglo-Indian  family  of  wealth.  He 
now  found  time  for  literature  proper.  He  published 
a  Life  of  Schiller  (1823-24)  in  the  London  Magazine^ 
and  translated  Legendre's  Geometry  and  Goethe's 
Wilhelm  Meister  (both   in   1824).     These  works  met 


XXVlll  INTRODUCTIOhK 

with  a  moderate  degree  of  success.  He  then  left  the 
Biillers,  and  for  a  while  supported  himself  as  best  he 
could  by  translation  from  the  German. 

In  182 1  Carlyle  had  been  introduced  by  his  friend 
Edward  Irving  to  Jane  Baillie  Welsh,  who  became  his 
wife  in  1826.  As  the  daughter  of  a  professional  man, 
she  was  accounted  Carlyle's  superior,  but  having 
literary  tastes  and  aspirations,  she  looked  forward  to 
marriage  with  Carlyle  as  an  intellectual  companion- 
ship with  a  man  of  genius.  She  little  anticipated  her 
long  years  of  penury,  household  drudgery,  and  prac- 
tical loneliness.  Thirty  years  later  she  wrote  the 
often  quoted  words,  "I  married  for  ambition;  Car- 
lyle has  exceeded  all  that  my  wildest  hopes  ever 
imagined,  and  I  am  miserable."  She  died  in  1866, 
while  Carlyle  was  on  his  way  home  from  delivering  his 
Installation  Address  as  Lord  Rector  of  the  Edinburgh 
University.  For  about  two  years  after  their  marriage 
the  Carlyles  lived  in  Edinburgh;  in  1828  they  retired 
to  a  small  farm,  Craigenputtoch,  belonging  to  his  wife. 
Here  they  lived  in  almost  complete  isolation  for  six 
years.  In  1834  they  removed  to  Chelsea,  a  suburb  of 
London. 

To  return  to  the  story  of  Carlyle's  fortunes  as 
author.  The  temporary  prosperity  of  1824,  arising 
from  Schiller  and  Meisier^  was  short-lived.  His  next 
venture  in  the  field  of  translation,  German  Romance, 
was  a  financial  failure,  and  his  further  plans  were 
rejected  by  the  publishers.  He  was  unknown  and 
unprepossessing,  and  had  to  create  the  taste  by  which 
he  was  to  be  enjoyed.  For  the  first  few  months  after 
his    marriage    Carlyle    could    earn    nothing.     A    new 


INTRODUCTION.  xxix 

prospect  began  in  1827  with  a  visit  to  Jeffrey,  who 
commissioned  him  to  write  for  the  Edinburgh  Review 
an  article  on  Jean  Paul  Richter.  This  was  followed 
by  an  account  of  the  State  of  German  Literature. 
These  articles  attracted  attention  in  a  limited  circle. 
Burns ^  published  in  the  Edinburgh  Review^  was 
written  at  Craigenputtoch  (1828).  With  this  article 
began  fresh  difficulties.  Carlyle  was  too  original  and 
too  much  in  earnest.  Jeffrey,  speaking  frankly  as 
a  friend,  implored  Carlyle  to  abridge  his  article,  to 
be  less  extravagant,  to  "fling  away"  his  affectations. 
Carlyle  stubbornly  insisted  on  having  the  paper  pub- 
lished as  he  had  written  it.  He  carried  his  point.  But 
in  1829  Jeffrey  retired,  and  his  successor,  Macvey 
Napier,  and  the  editors  of  the  other  reviews,  were 
reluctant  to  accept  Carlyle's  articles.  A  History  of 
German  Literature  was  rejected  by  publishers,  and 
when  cut  up  into  articles,  was  rejected  by  the  review 
editors.  Besides  the  difficulty  in  getting  articles 
accepted,  was  the  delay  of  months  before  any  pay- 
ment for  them  was  received.  The  year  1831  saw  the 
Carlyle  household  in  desperate  straits.  Accepting 
a  loan  from  Jeffrey,  Carlyle  went  to  London  in  vain 
quest  of  a  publisher  for  the  MS.  of  a  book  he  had 
just  completed.  Sartor  Resartus.  Sartor  was  doomed 
to  be  flatly  rejected  at  first,  to  appear  in  Eraser' s 
Magazine  as  a  serial  (paid  for  at  reduced  rates)  in 
1833-34,  and  to  be  offered  in  book  form  to  the  British 
public  only  in  1838.  All  that  came  of  Carlyle's  trip 
was  an  extension  of  his  literary  acquaintance,  and 
what  was  more  to  the  point,  several  commissions  for 
review  articles.     One  was  Characteristics.^  published  in 


XXX  INTRODUCTION. 

the  Edinburgh  Review  (Dec,  183 1);  two  others 
were  Biography  and  Boswelf  s  Life  of  Johnson^  pub- 
lished in  Eraser's  Magazine  (April,  1832;  May, 
1832). 

The  story  of  Carlyle's  life  has  now  been  brought 
down  to  the  date  of  the  present  essay.  At  this  time 
he  was  still  all  but  unknown,  miserably  poor,  without 
prospects,  recognized  only  by  a  few  as  a  stubbornly 
eccentric  genius,  yet  defiant,  steadfast,  and  for  the 
most  part  confident  of  his  powers.  We  read  his 
utterances  on  Johnson  with  greater  interest  as  we 
realise  how  closely  they  can  be  made  to  apply  to 
himself. 

His  subsequent  history  belongs  to  the  study  of 
English  literature,  and  not  to  that  of  the  present  essay. 
An  enumeration  of  his  further  works  is  all  that  can  be 
attempted  here.  In  1837  t\\Q  French  Revolution  tst^h- 
lished  his  fame.  Annual  lecture  courses  in  the  years 
1837-40  (in  1840  the  famous  Heroes  and  Hero-Wor- 
ship^ relieved  him  from  pecuniary  straits.  Sartor 
received  a  second  hearing  in  1838.  In  Chartism 
(1839),  Past  and  Present  (1843),  and  Latter-Day 
Patnphlets  (1850),  Carlyle  developed  his  peculiar 
political  doctrines,  and  applied  them  to  the  "Con- 
dition-of-England  question."  In  1845  he  published 
his  second  historical  work,  CroniwelV s  Letters  and 
Speeches.  After  the  Life  of  John  Sterling  (1850)  he 
devoted  his  concentrated  energies  for  fifteen  years  to 
his  crowning  work,  The  History  of  Friedrich  LL.  of 
Prussia,  called  Frederick  the  Great  (two  volumes,  1858 ; 
two,  1862;  two,  1865).  This  practically  concluded 
his  career  as  author;   his  few  subsequent  utterances 


IN  TR  OD  UC  TIOiY.  x  x  x  i 

were  those  of  an  oracle,  now  and  then  inspired  by- 
public  events  to  break  his  silence.  He  died  at  Chel- 
sea, February  4,  i88r. 

VI.  The  Relation  between  the  two  Essays. 

Though  nowhere  expressly  so  stated  it  is  certain 
from  internal  evidence  that  Carlyle's  essay  is  a  reply 
to  Macaulay  as  well  as  a  review  of  Croker.  In  the 
course  of  his  discussion  Carlyle  undertakes  to  refute  a 
number  of  Macaulay 's  statements. 

The  first  point  of  issue  is  Boswell's  attachment  for 
Johnson.  Macaulay  had  imputed  it  to  servility  and 
love  of  notoriety: 

He  [Boswell]  was  always  laying  himself  at  the  feet  of  some 
eminent  man,  and  begging  to  be  spit  upon  and  trampled  upon. 

(p.  27  ) 

He  was  a  slave  proud  of  his  servitude,     (p.  29.) 

Carljle  sees  in  Boswell's  relation  to  Johnson  the  sav'- 
ing  virtue  of  "Hero-worship'*: 

Towards  Johnson ^  however,  his  feeling  was  not  sycophancy, 
which  is  the  lowest,  but  reverence,  which  is  the  highest  of  human 
feelings,     (p.  84.)  ' 

Secondly,  Macaulay,.  with  the  rest  of  the  world,  had 
blamed  Boswell  for  disclosing  familiar  conversations : 

He  was  not  ashamed  to  exhibit  himself  to  the  world  as  a  common 
spy,  a  common  tatler,  .  .  No  man,  surely,  ever  published  such 
stories  respecting  persons  whom  he  professed  to  love  and  revere, 
(p.  32.) 

Carlyle  defends  Boswell  by  an  ingenious  argument 
based  on  his  favorite  doctrine  of  silence: 


xxxii  INTRODUCTION. 

An  exception  was  early  taken  against  this  "  Life  of  Johnson  :  " 
.  .  .  That  such  jottings-down  of  careless  conversation  are  an 
infringement  of  social  privacy  .  .  .  To  this  accusation  .  .  . 
might  it  not  be  well  ...  to  offer  the  .  .  .  plea  of  Not  at  all 
guilty  ?  .  .  .  Let  convei-sation  be  kept  in  remembrance  to  the 
latest  date  possible.  Nay,  should  the  consciousness  that  a  man 
may  be  among  us  "  taking  notes  "  tend,  in  any  measure,  to  restrict 
those  floods  of  idle,  insincere  speech,  in  which  the  thought  of  man- 
kind is  well-nigh  drowned,  were  it  other  than  the  most  indubitable 
benefit?     (p.  92.) 

Further,  Macaulay  had  explained  the  greatness  of 
Boswell's  book  by  the  meanness  and  folly  of  its 
author: 

Boswell  attained  it  [literary  eminence]  by  reason  of  his  weak- 
nesses. If  he  had  not  been  a  great  fool,  he  would  never  have 
been  a  great  writer,     (p.  29.) 

Carlyle  is  roused  by  this  to  the  highest  pitch  of  indig- 
nation: 

Falser  hypothesis,  we  may  venture  to  say  never  rose  in  human 
soul.  Bad  is  in  its  nature  negative,  and  can  do  nothing ;  what- 
ever enables  us  to  do  anything  is  by  its  very  nature  good.  Alas, 
that  there  should  be  teachers  in  Israel,  or  even  learners,  to  whom 
this  world-ancient  fact  is  still  problematical,  or  even  deniable. 
.  .  .  Neither  James  Boswell's  good  book,  or  any  other  good 
thing,  in  any  time  or  in  any  place,  was,  is,  or  can  be  performed  by 
any  man  in  virtue  of  his  badness,  but  always  and  solely  in  spite 
thereof,     (p.  83.) 

Similarly,  one  can  discover  direct  contradictions  of 
Macaulay's  statements  about  Johnson. 

What  Macaulay  thought  of  these  rebukes  is  not 
recorded.  He  probably  cared  little;  throughout  his 
life  he  seems  to  have  been  insensible  to  criticism. 


INTRODUCTION.  xxxill 

Carlyle's  letters  and  diary,  before  and  after  this 
time,  contain  many  slighting  references  to  Macaulay, 
both  as  politician  and  as  man  of  letters.  None  of 
those  made  public  by  Froude  contain  any  mention  of 
the  difference  of  opinion  over  Boswell  and  Johnson. 
Macaulay  and  Carlyle  did  not  actually  meet  until 
some  time  in  the  forties. 

VII.  Remarks  on  Carlyle's  Essay. 

Structure.  The  structure  of  the  essay  is  more 
complex  than  that  of  Macaulay's,  and  can  be  compre- 
hended only  after  careful  study.  Disregarding  for 
the  moment  what  may  be  called  digressions,  we  find 
three  main  sections. 

The  first  section,  that  dealing  with  Croker,  is  the 
shortest  and  simplest.  By  way  of  introduction  Carlyle 
applies  a  fable  of  ^sop  to  the  situation.  He  then 
tells  first,  what  he  finds  to  commend  in  Croker's  work, 
and  secondly,  what  he  finds  to  condemn.  In  con- 
clusion he  pronounces  the  work  a  failure. 

The  second  section  is  a  discussion  of  the  character 
of  Boswell.  Within  this  is  embedded  a  discussion  of 
the  merits  of  his  book.  In  an  introductory  paragraph 
Boswell  is  presented  as  a  man  of  whom  chiefly  evil 
has  been  spoken.  Carlyle  then  tells  first,  what  he 
finds  to  condemn  in  Boswell,  namely,  vanity  and 
sensuaUty;  secondly,  what  he  finds  in  him  to  com- 
mend, namely,  reyereacejor  a  superior  and  literary 
talent.  He  decides  that  Boswell' s  character  was 
made  up  of  good  and  evil,  and  that  the  explanation  of 
his  great  work  lies  entirely  in  the  good.     Carlyle  next 


X  X  X 1 V  IN  TROD  UC  77  ON. 

discusses  Boswell's  book,  resting  its  merits  on  three 
grounds:  it  is  true;  it  deals  with  the  past;  it  contains 
historical  information.*  He  then  returns  to  Boswell 
himself,  and  defends  his  alleged  breaches  of  con- 
fidence. 

The  third  section  is  devoted  to  Johnson.  It  is 
mechanically  separated  into  three  divisions:  first, 
general  introduction,  and  account  of  Johnson's  early- 
life  (1709-1737);  second,  account  of  Johnson's  life 
in  London  (1737-1784);  third,  general  remarks  on 
Johnson's  character  and  influence. 

In  the  first  division  the  introduction  demonstrates 
that  men  tend  to  go  through  life  in  flocks,  even  as 
sheep  do;  that  men,  like  sheep,  have  their  leaders; 
that  Johnson  was  one  of  these  leaders;  consequently 
his  biography  deserves  study.  Then  comes  the  ac- 
count of  Johnson's  early  life,  with  Carlyle's  comments. 

The  second  division  is  prefaced  by  a  brief  picture 
of  the  state  of  authorship  at  the  time.  Next,  Johnson 
is  described  as  confronted  by  a  "twofold  problem," 
to  earn  his  livelihood  as  an  author,  and  to  do  so  by 
promulgating  truthful  doctrine.  The  first  part  of  the 
problem  was  the  choice  between  support  from  the 
patron  and  support  from  the  bookseller.  Carlyle 
tells  what  each  choice  implied,  and  which  choice 
Johnson  made.  The  second  part  of  the  problem  was 
the  choice  between  conservatism  and  radicalism  in 
religious  and  political  belief,  Carlyle  assuming  that  a 

*  Or,  one  might  say,  it  appeals  to  our  common  sense,  to  our  feel- 
ing of  reverence,  and  to  our  intellectual  curiosity.  The  second 
and  third  reasons,  stated  above,  may  seem  to  overlap  ;  for  Carlyle 
they  are  distinct. 


IN  TROD  UC  TIOiV.  x  x  x  V 

consistent  man  would  be  either  conservative  in  both, 
or  radical  in  both.  Was  Johnson  to  be  Tory  and 
Churchman,  or  Whig  and  Deist?  Carlyle  describes 
the  state  of  politics  and  religion,  and  explains  and 
vindicates  Johnson's  choice.  The  narrative  of  his 
life  is  then  resumed  and  concluded. 

The  third  division  is  something  in  the  nature  of 
a  postscript,  and  contains  miscellaneous  remarks  on 
Johnson's  character.  The  chief  points  to  be  remem- 
bered are  the  specification  of  Johnson's  cardinal 
virtues  as  valor,  honesty,  _aiid^aifection,  which  last 
is  made  to  account  for  his  famous  "prejudices,"  and 
the  comparison  drawn  between  Johnson  and  Hume. 

Carlyle  does  not  aim  at  pure  narrative.  His  char- 
acteristic manner  of  telling  a  story  is  to  overlay  each 
incident  with  comments,  usually  upon  its  moral  signifi- 
cance. In  addition,  whenever  he  is  reminded  of  one 
of  his  favorite  topics  of  declamation — Duty,  Work, 
Silence,  Puffery,  etc. — the  narrative  stops  entirely, 
in  order  that  the  moral  may  be  heard.  Such  passages 
may  properly  be  termed  digressions.  In  the  present 
essay  note  the  digressions  on  History  (pp.  88-92), 
Silence  (pp.  93-95),  Fame  (p.  133),  Puffery  (p.  147), 
etc.  On  further  acquaintance  with  Carlyle  one  dis- 
covers that  these  digressions  constantly  recur,  in 
almost  the  same  words,  in  his  other  essays,  in  his 
Jourjtal  {aptid  Froude),  in  Sartor,  in  the  French  Rev- 
olution, etc.,  down  to  Frederick.  This  recurrence 
may  be  illustrated  by  the  following  passages : 

Thus,  do  not  recruiting  sergeants  drum  through  the  streets  of 
manufacturing  towns,  and  collect  ragged  losels  enough  ;  every  one 
of  whom,  if  once  dressed  in  red,  and   trained  a  little,  will  receive 


xxxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

fire  cheerfully  for  the  small  sum  of  one  shilling/^;-  diem,  and  have 
the  soul  blown  out  of  him  at  last  with  perfect  propriety. — BoswelVs 
Johnson  (p.  142). 

Ragged  losels  gathered  by  beat  of  drum  from  the  overcrowded 
streets  of  cities,  and  drilled  a  little  and  dressed  in  red,  do  not  they 
stand  fire  in  an  uncensurable  manner  ;  and  handsomely  give  their 
life,  if  needful,  at  the  rate  of  a  shilling  per  day  ? — Latter-Day 
Pamphlets  (No.  II.  :Model  Prisons). 

Matter.  Carlyle  cannot  be  accused  of  injustice 
to  either  Boswell  or  Johnson.  He  is  lenient  in  reprov- 
ing Boswell's  faults,  he  becomes  even  fantastic  in 
praising  his  "love  for  excellence."  To  one  ac- 
quainted with  the  whole  story  of  Boswell's  life,  his 
dangling  after  celebrities,  his  "Hero-worship,"  is  too 
much  like  ordinary  tuft-hunting  to  justify  all  of 
Carlyle' s  commendation.  Carlyle  also  takes  the 
ground  that  Johnson  was  poor,  unregarded,  and 
obscure  when  Boswell  sought  him  out.  This,  which 
if  capable  of  proof  would  raise  Boswell  in  our  estima- 
tion, is  contested  by  Dr.  Birkbeck  Hill  in  his  JDr. 
Johnson:  his  Friends  and  his  Critics  ("Mr.  Carlyle 
on  Boswell").  * 

Carlyle  also  goes  a  little,  too  Tar  in  his  praise  of 
Johnson,  when  he  asserts  that  through  him  "England 
escaped  the  bloodbath  of  a  French  revolution." 
Whatever  England's  danger,  Johnson's  influence  was 
certainly  less  than  Carlyle  imagines. 

Originality.  Carlyle's  estimate  of  Boswell  was  an 
innovation;  previous  criticism  had  been  little  else  than 
ridicule.  His  estimate  of  Johnson  is  original,  in  that 
he  gives  a  new  picture  of  the  man  and  does  not  merely 
repeat  what  had  been  said  before.     But  this  is  too 


INTRODUCriON-.  xxxvil 

slight  praise,  for  his  account  of  Johnson  is  correct^ 
which  it  might  have  missed  being,  despite  the  greatest 
originality.  Subsequent  criticism  of  Johnson  has 
differed  from  that  of  Carlyle  only  by  being  more  or 
less  enthusiastic  than  his ;  it  has  moved  along  the  lines 
which  he  laid  down. 

Style,  For  a  detailed  analysis  of  Carlyle's  style, 
see  Minto's  English  Prose.  The  peculiarities  noted 
here  are  merely  those  which  are  most  prominent  at 
first  sight. 

1.  Ort/iography.  A  certain  quaint  effect  is  produced 
by  Carlyle's  old-fashioned  fondness  for  capitals  and 
hyphens.  In  sixteenth  century  fashion  he  capitalizes 
any  emphatic  noun  or  adjective: 

A  Speaker  of  the  Word  ;  the  Bookselling  guild  ;  a  poor  Man  of 
Genius  ;  the  Recording  Angel  ;  they  are  professedly  Didactic. 

He  uses  hyphens  for  compound  numerals,  for  verbs 
followed  by  prepositional  adverbs,  and  for  compound 
nouns,  often  nondescripts  of  his  own  coinage : 

Fifty-third  ;  twenty-two  years  ;  twenty-seven  millions  mostly 
fools. 

His  comrades  .  .  .  slam-to  the  door  ;  the  whole  household 
burst-forth  ;  set-up  a  Parliament ;  we  should  .  .  .  look-out  for 
something  other  and  farther. 

Condition-of-England  question  ;  universal-suffrages  ;  Able-Edi- 
tors; scoundrel-species;  Advocate's-wig  ;  Tombstone-information  ; 
black-or-white  surplicing. 

2.  Vocabulary .  Carlyle  is  an  innovator  in  words, 
departing  widely  from  conventional  usage.  He  goes 
to  any  length  to  secure  a  contemptuous,  grotesque, 
or  graphic  effect.  The  peculiarities  of  his  vocabulary 
include  : 


X  X  XV 1 1 1  AV  TROD  UC  TIOX. 

a.  Quaint  obsolete  or  provincial  words  or  meaningsi 
of  words: 

Nay,  other  (=:diflferent),  else  (^otherwise),  cunning  (=clever), 
somewhat  (= something),  anon. 

b.  More  or  less  eccentric  coinages  of  his  own, 
some  of  them  intentionally  ludicrous: 

Squirelet,  pistoleer,  gigmanity,  Halfness,  Sanspotato,  squeaklets. 

c.  Pedantic  expressions,  which  the  reader  must 
interpret  by  his  knowledge  of  Latin: 

Sedentary  (p.  129),  protrusive  importunity,  papilionaceous. 

d.  Homely  colloquialisms,  unfamiliar  to  elegant 
style,  commonly  for  humorous  effect: 

Poke  in  ;  wag  their  tongues  ;  solid-feeding  Thrale  ;  pot-bellied 
Landlord. 

e.  Stock  expressions,  involving  a  favorite  doctrine 
or  illustration,  and  not  explained  every  time  they 
occur: 

Mumbojumbo,  Popinjay,  Dead-Sea  apes,  gigmanity,  Bapho- 
metic,  mother  of  dead  dogs,  vesture,  iron  leaf,  Hero-worship,  mud- 
gods,  etc, 

3.  Figures  of  Speech.  Carlyle's  language  is  habit- 
ually figurative.  To  what  extent  is  it  a  safe  model? 
One  must  leave  out  chronic  eccentricities,  such  as 
those  mentioned  above:  Mumboj umbos,  mud-gods, 
etc.,  and  consider  his  less  extravagant  figures.  In 
these  he  may  challenge  comparison  with  any  writer. 

Carlyle  continually  produces  the  most  graphic 
effects  by  the   use   of   a   metaphorical    term,    where 


IN  TR  on  UC  TION.  X  X  X  i  X 

a  writer  less  intent  on  vividness  would  have  employed 
some  easier,  matter-of-fact  expression;  Boswell  does 
not  "go  to"  Bolt  Court,  he  "dives  into"  it;  John- 
son "creeps  into"  his  obscure  lodgings;  Croker  col- 
lects "Tombstone-information";  the  world  "cackled" 
at  Johnson's  pension. 

Carlyle's  more  extended  comparisons,  often  of  a  very 
homely  kind,  are  strikingly  effective.  The  compari- 
son is  carried  out  with  just  enough  detail  to  illustrate 
most  clearly: 

Old  Auchinleck  had,  if  not  the  gay,  tail-spreading,  peacock 
vanity  of  his  son,  no  little  of  the  slow-stalking,  contentious,  hissing 
vanity  of  the  gander,     (p.  76.) 

His  [Boswell's]  mighty  "  constellation  ;  "  or  sun,  round  whom 
he,  as  satellite,  observantly  gyrated,  was,  for  the  mass  of  men,  but 
a  huge  ill-snuffed  tallow-light,  and  he  a  weak  night-moth,  circling 
foolishly,   dangerously  about  it,   not   knowing  what  he  wanted. 

(p.  79.) 

The  lampoon  itself  is  indeed  nothing,  a  soap-bubble  that  next 
moment  will  become  a  drop  of  sour  suds,     (p,  134.) 

4.  Allusions.  Carlyle's  allusions  are  mainly  of  two 
sorts.  First,  he  uses  certain  stock  allusions,  that 
recur  again  and  again.  In  many  of  these,  the  sub- 
jects are  taken  from  his  gallery  of  heroes.  He  con- 
tinually enforces  his  dogmas  by  illustrations  from  the 
lives  of  Knox,  Cromwell,  Johnson,  Milton,  Napoleon, 
and  other  great  men.  Thus,  he  often  shows  how  true 
greatness  goes  unrecognized  in  its  own  time  by  re- 
minding us  that  Shakespeare  was  arrested  for  deer- 
stealing,  that  Burns  gauged  ale-barrels,  and  that  Mil- 
ton received  ten  pounds  for  Paradise.  Lost.  Other 
frequent  allusions  are  to  stories  that  he  has  at  least 


X 1  IN  TR  OD  UC  TION. 

once  told  at  length.  Thus,  the  "Dead-Sea  apes"  are 
explained  in  Past  and  Present  (Book  III,  ch.  iii),  and 
"gigmanity"  is  explained  in  a  footnote  to  BoswelVs 
Johnson  (p.  77).  Further,  he  has  a  set  of  fictitious 
personages  with  grotesque  names:  Sauerteig,  the  phi- 
losopher, whose  sayings  he  quotes  and  approves; 
M'Croudy,  the  political  economist;  Crabbe,  editor  of 
the  Intermittent  Radiator\  Dryasdust,  the  annalist  and 
statistician;  Bobus  Higgins;  etc.,  etc.  These  he 
sets  up  as  contemporary  types,  most  often  for  pur- 
poses of  ridicule. 

Secondly,  Carlyle  draws  largely  for  allusions  on 
Shakespeare  and  the  English  Bible.  The  notes  to 
the  present  essay  point  out  some  forty  instances, 
mostly  from  the  latter.  This  Biblical  phraseology, 
as  handled  by  Carlyle,  aids  greatly  in  giving  his  writ- 
ings their  earnest,  prophetic  tone;  the  simple,  scrip- 
tural phrase  still  keeps  its  place  as  one  of  the  most 
effective  forms  of  human  speech.  Few,  however,  can 
employ  it  with  Carlyle's  success.  Carlyle's  Shakes- 
pearean language  is  used  with  a  full  sense  of  its 
original  context,  and  often  cannot  be  properly  under- 
stood unless  the  reader  is  familiar  with  the  passage 
whence  it  is  derived;  e,  g.^  local  habitation  (p.  d>6). 

Besides  his  borrowings  from  the  Bible  and  from 
Shakespeare,  Carlyle  occasionally  employs  expres- 
sions from  other  writers,  especially  Milton. 


SAMUEL  JOHNSON.   (September,  183 1.) 


The  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LL.D.  Including  a  Jour- 
nal of  a  Tour  to  the  Hebrides,  by  James  Boswell,  Esq. 
A  New  Edition,  with  numerous  Additions  and  Notes. 
By  John  Wilson  Croker,  LL.D.,  F.R.S.  Five  Vol- 
umes 8vo.     London  :  1831. 

This  work  has  greatly  disappointed  us.  Whatever 
faults  we  may  have  been  prepared  to  find  in  it,  we 
fully  expected  that  it  would  be  a  valuable  addition  to 
English  literature;  that  it  would  contain  many  curious 

5  facts,  and  many  judicious  remarks ;  that  the  style  of 
the  notes  would  be  neat,  clear,  and  precise ;  and  that 
the  typographical  execution  would  be,  as  in  new  edi- 
tions of  classical  works  it  ought  to  be,  almost  faultless. 
We  are  sorry  to  be  obliged  to  say  that  the  merits  of 

10  Mr.  Croker's  performance  are  on  a  par  with  those  of 
a  certain  leg  of  mutton  on  which  Dr.  Johnson  dined, 
while  travelling  from  London  to  Oxford,  and  which 
he,  with  characteristic  energy,  pronounced  to  be  "as 
bad  as  bad  could  be;  ill  fed,  ill  killed,  ill  kept,  and 

15  ill  dressed. ' '  This  edition  is  ill  compiled,  ill  arranged, 
ill  written,  and  ill  printed. 

Nothing  in  the  work  has  astonished  us  so  much  as 
the  ignorance  or  carelessness  of  Mr.  Croker  with  re- 


2  /  J/;/  CA  ULA  V   OAT 

'spcct  tc  lacts  ^nd  dates.,  Many  of  his  blunders  are 
such  as  we  should  be  surprised  to  hear  any  well  edu- 
cated gentleman  commit,  even  in  conversation.  The 
notes  absolutely  swarm  with  misstatements  into  which 
the  editor  never  would  have  fallen,  if  he  had  taken  5 
the  slightest  pains  to  investigate  the  truth  of  his  asser- 
tions, or  if  he  had  even  been  well  acquainted  with  the 
book  on  which  he  undertook  to  comment.  We  will 
give  a  few  instances. 

Mr.  Croker  tells  us  in  a  note  that  Derrick,  who  was  10 
master  of  the  ceremonies  at  Bath,  died  very  poor  in 
1760.'  We  read  on;  and,  a  few  pages  later,  we  find 
Dr.  Johnson  and  Boswell  talking  of  this  same  Der- 
rick as  still  living  and  reigning,  as  having  retrieved 
his  character,  as  possessing  so  much  power  over  15 
his  subjects  at  Bath  that  his  opposition  might  be 
fatal  to  Sheridan's  lectures  on  oratory.*^  And  all 
this  is  in  1763.  The  fact  is,  that  Derrick  died 
in    1769. 

In  one  note  we  read  that  Sir  Herbert  Croft,  the  20 
author  of  that  pompous  and  foolish  account  of  Young, 
which  appears  among  the  Lives  of  the  Poets,  died 
in  1805.^  Another  note  in  the  same  volume  states 
that  this  same  Sir  Herbert  Croft  died  at  Paris,  after 
residing  abroad  for  fifteen  years,  on  the  27th  of  April,  25 
1816.^ 

Mr.  Croker  informs  us,  that  Sir  William  Forbes  of 
Pitsligo,  the  author  of  the  Life  of  Beattie,  died  in 
1816.^  A  Sir  William  Forbes  undoubtedly  died  in 
that  year,  but  not  the  Sir  William  Forbes  in  question,  30 

'  I.  394-  ^  I.  404.  ^  IV.  321. 

*  IV.  428.  6  ii_  262. 


BOSWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  3 

whose  death  took  place  in  1806.  It  is  notorious, 
indeed,  that  the  biographer  of  Beattie  lived  just  long 
enough  to  complete  the  history  of  his  friend.  Eight 
or  nine  years  before  the  date  which  Mr.  Croker  has 
5  assigned  for  Sir  William's  death,  Sir  Walter  Scott 
lamented  that  event  in  the  introduction  to  the  fourth 
canto  of  Marmion.     Every  school-girl  knows  the  lines: 

"  Scarce  had  lamented  Forbes  paid 
The  tribute  to  his  Minstrel's  shade  ; 
10  The  tale  of  friendship  scarce  was  told, 

Ere  the  narrator's  heart  was  cold  : 
Far  may  we  search  before  we  find 
A  heart  so  manly  and  so  kind  !  " 

In  one  place  we  are  told  that  Allan  Ramsay,  the 
15  painter,    was   born    in    1709,  and    died   in    1784;*  in 
another,  that  he  died  in  1784,  in  the  seventy-first  year 
of  his  age.'^ 

In  one  place,  Mr.  Croker  says,  that  at  the  com- 
mencement of  the  intimacy  between  Dr.  Johnson  and 
20  Mrs.  Thrale,  in  1765,  the  lady  was  twenty-five  years 
old.^  In  other  places  he  says  that  Mrs.  Thrale's 
thirty-fifth  year  coincided  with  Johnson's  seventieth.* 
Johnson  was  born  in  1709.  If,  therefore,  Mrs. 
Thrale's  thirty-fifth  year  coincided  with  Johnson's 
25  seventieth,  she  could  have  been  only  twenty-one  years 
old  in  1765.  This  is  not  all.  Mr.  Croker,  in  another 
place,  assigns  the  year  1777  as  the  date  of  the  com- 
plimentary lines  which  Johnson  made  on  Mrs.  Thrale's 
thirty-fifth  birthday.^     If  this  date  be  correct,   Mrs. 

^  IV.  105.  2  V.  281.  3  I,  5J0. 

4  IV.  271,  322.  5  jii  ^62. 


4  AIACAULAY  OIST 

Thrale  must  have  been  born  in  1742,  and  could  have 
been  only  twenty-three  when  her  acquaintance  with 
Johnson  commenced.  Mr.  Croker  therefore  gives 
us  three  different  statements  as  to  her  age.  Two  of 
the  three  must  be  incorrect.  We  will  not  decide 
between  them  ;  we  will  only  say  that  the  reasons  which 
Mr.  Croker  gives  for  thinking  that  Mrs.  Thrale  was 
exactly  thirty-five  years  old  when  Johnson  was  seventy, 
appear  to  us  utterly  frivolous. 

Again,  Mr.  Croker  informs  his  readers  that  "Lordic 
Mansfield  survived  Johnson  full  ten  years.  "^     Lord 
Mansfield  survived  Dr.  Johnson  just  eight  years  and  a 
quarter. 

Johnson  found  in  the  library  of  a  French  lady, 
whom  he  visited  during  his  short  visit  to  Paris,  some  15 
works  which  he.  regarded  with  great  disdain.  "I 
looked,"  says  he,  "into  the  books  in  the  lady's  closet, 
and,  in  contempt,  showed  them  to  Mr.  Thrale. 
Prince  Titi,  Bibliotheque  des  Fees,  and  other  books."  ^ 
"The  History  of  Prince  Titi,"  observes  Mr.  Croker,  2c 
"was  said  to  be  the  autobiography  of  Frederick 
Prince  of  Wales,  but  was  probably  written  by  Ralph 
his  secretary."  A  more  absurd  note  never  was 
penned.  The  history  of  Prince  Titi,  to  \vhich  Mr. 
Croker  refers,  whether  written  by  Prince  Frederick  25 
or  by  Ralph,  was  certainly  never  published.  If  Mr. 
Croker  had  taken  the  trouble  to  read  with  attention 
that  very  passage  in  Park's  Royal  and  Noble  Authors 
which  he  cites  as  his  authority,  he  would  have  seen 
that  the  manuscript  was  given  up  to  the  government.  30 
Even  if  this  memoir  had  been  printed,  it  is  not  very 
UI.  151.  2  ixi.  271. 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  5 

•  likely  to  find  its  way  into  a  French  lady's  bookcase. 
And  would  any  man  in  his  senses  speak  contemptu- 
ously of  a  French  lady  for  having  in  her  possession  an 
English  work,  so  curious  and  interesting  as  a  Life  of 

5  Prince  Frederick,  whether  written  by  himself  or  by  a 
confidential  secretary,  must  have  been?  The  history 
at  which  Johnson  laughed  was  a  very  proper  com- 
panion to  the  Bibliotheque  des  Fees,  a  fairy  tale  about 
good  Prince  Titi  and  naughty  Prince  Violent.     Mr. 

loCroker  may  find  it  in  the  Magasin  des  Enfans,  the 
first  French  book  which  the  little  girls  of  England 
read  to  their  governesses. 

Mr.  Croker  states  that  Mr.  Henry  Bate,  who  after- 
wards assumed  the  name  of  Dudley,  was  proprietor  of 

15  the  Morning  Herald,  and  fought  a  duel  with  George 
Robinson  Stoney,  in  consequence  of  some  attacks  on 
Lady  Strathmore  which  appeared  in  that  paper.' 
Now,  Mr.  Bate  was  then  connected,  not  with  the 
Morning  Herald,  but  with  the  Morning  Post;  and  the 

20  dispute  took  place  before  the  Morning  Herald  was  in 
existence.  The  duel  was  fought  in  January,  1777. 
The  Chronicle  of  the  Annual  Register  for  that  year 
contains  an  account  of  the  transaction,  and  distinctly 
states  that  Mr.  Bate  was  editor  of  the  Morning  Post. 

25  The  Morning  Herald,  as  any  person  may  see  by  look- 
ing at  any  number  of  it,  was  not  established  till  some 
years  after  this  affair.  For  this  blunder  there  is,  we 
must  acknowledge,  some  excuse;  for  it  certainly 
seems  almost  incredible  to  a  person  living  in  our  time 

30  that  any  human  being  should   ever  have   stooped   to 
fight  with  a  writer  in  the  Morning  Post. 
'V.  196. 


6  iMACAULAY  OiV 

"James  de  Duglas,"  says  Mr.  Croker,  "was  re- 
quested by  King  Robert  Bruce,  in  his  last  hours,  to 
repair  with  his  heart  to  Jerusalem,  and  humbly  to 
deposit  it  at  the  sepulchre  of  our  Lord,  which  he 
did  in  1329."^  Now,  it  is  well  known  that  he  5 
did  no  such  thing,  and  for  a  very  sufficient  reason, 
because  he  was  killed  by  the  way.  Nor  was  it  in 
1329  that  he  set  out.  Robert  Bruce  died  in  1329, 
and  the  expedition  of  Douglas  took  place  in  the 
following  year,  "Quand  le  printems  vint  et  la  sai- 10 
son,"  says  Froissart,  in  June,  1330,  says  Lord  Hailes, 
whom  Mr.  Croker  cites  as  the  authority  for  his 
statement. 

Mr.  Croker  tells  us  that  the  great  Marquis  of 
Montrose  was  beheaded  at  Edinburgh  in  1650.'^  15 
There  is  not  a  forward  boy  at  any  school  in  Eng- 
land who  does  not  know  that  the  marquis  was  hanged. 
The  account  of  the  execution  is  one  of  the  finest  pas- 
sages in  Lord  Clarendon's  History.  We  can  scarcely 
suppose  that  Mr.  Croker  has  never  read  that  passage;  20 
and  yet  we  can  scarcely  suppose  that  any  person 
who  has  ever  perused  so  noble  and  pathetic  a  his- 
tory can  have  utterly  forgotten  all  its  most  striking 
circumstances. 

"Lord  Townshend,"  says  Mr.  Croker,  "was  not 25 
secretary  of  state  till  1720."^  Can  Mr.  Croker  pos- 
sibly be  ignorant  that  Lord  Townshend  was  made 
secretary  of  state  at  the  accession  of  George  I.  in 
1 7 14,  that  he  continued  to  be  secretary  of  state  till  he 
was  displaced  by  the  intrigues  of  Sunderland  and  30 
Stanhope  at  the  close  of  17 16,  and  that  he  returned  to 
1  IV.  29.  2 11^  526.  3  in.  52. 


BOSWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  7 

the   office  of   secretary   of   state,  not   in    1720,  but  in 
1721? 

Mr.  Croker,  indeed,  is  generally  unfortunate  in  his 
statements    respecting    the    Townshend    family.      He 

5  tells  us  that  Charles  Townshend,  the  chancellor  of  the 
exchequer,  was  "nephew  of  the  prime  minister,  and 
son  of  a  peer  who  was  secretary  of  state,  and  leader 
of  the  House  of  Lords."  '  Charles  Townshend  was 
not  nephew,  but  grandnephew,  of  the  Duke  of  New- 

10  castle,  not  son,  but  grandson,  of  the  Lord  Town- 
shend who  was  secretary  of  state,  and  leader  of  the 
House  of  Lords. 

"General  Burgoyne  surrendered  at  Saratoga,"  says 
Mr.  Croker,  "in  March,  1778."^     General  Burgoyne 

15  surrendered  on  the  17th  of  October,  1777. 

"Nothing,"  says  Mr.  Croker,  "can  be  more  un- 
founded than  the  assertion  that  Byng  fell  a  martyr  to 
political  party.  By  a  strange  coincidence  of  circum- 
stances, it  happened  that  there  was  a  total  change  of 

20  administration  between  his  condemnation  and  his 
death ;  so  that  one  party  presided  at  his  trial  and 
another  at  his  execution:  there  can  be  no  stronger 
proof  that  he  was  not  a  political  martyr."^  Now, 
what  will  our  readers  think  of  this  writer  when   we 

25  assure  them  that  this  statement,  so  confidently  made, 
respecting  events  so  notorious,  is  absolutely  untrue? 
One  and  the  same  administration  was  in  office  when 
the  court-martial  on  Byng  commenced  its  sittings, 
through  the  whole  trial,  at  the  condemnation  and  at 

30  the  execution.  In  the  month  of  November,  1756, 
the  Duke  of  Newcastle  and  Lord  Hardwicke  resigned; 

^  in.   36S.  2  IV.   222.  «  I.    298. 


8  MACAULAY  ON 

the  Duke  of  Devonshire  became  first  lord  of  the 
treasury,  and  Mr.  Pitt,  secretary  of  state.  This 
administration  lasted  till  the  month  of  April,  1757. 
Byng's  court-martial  began  to  sit  on  the  28th  of 
December,  1756.  He  was  shot  on  the  14th  of  March,  5 
1757.  There  is  something  at  once  diverting  and  pro- 
voking in  the  cool  and  authoritative  manner  in  which 
Mr.  Croker  makes  these  random  assertions.  We  do 
not  suspect  him  of  intentionally  falsifying  history. 
But  of  this  high  literary  misdemeanor  we  do  without  to 
hesitation  accuse  him,  that  he  has  no  adequate  sense 
of  the  obligation  which  a  writer,  who  professes  to  relate 
facts,  owes  to  the  public.  We  accuse  him  of  a  negli- 
gence and  an  ignorance  analogous  to  that  crassa  negli- 
geutia  and  that  crassa  ignorantia^  on  which  the  law  15 
animadverts  in  magistrates  and  surgeons,  even  when 
malice  and  corruption  are  not  imputed.  We  accuse 
him  of  having  undertaken  a  work  which,  if  not  per- 
formed with  strict  accuracy,  must  be  very  much  worse 
than  useless,  and  of  having  performed  it  as  if  the  20 
difference  between  an  accurate  and  an  inaccurate 
statement  was  not  worth  the  trouble  of  looking  into 
the  most  common  book  of  reference. 

But  we  must  proceed.  These  volumes  contain 
mistakes  more  gross,  if  possible,  than  any  that  we  25 
have  yet  mentioned.  Boswell  has  recorded  some 
observations  made  by  Johnson  on  the  changes  which 
had  taken  place  in  Gibbon's  religious  opinions.  That 
Gibbon  when  a  lad  at  Oxford  turned  Catholic  is  well 
known.  "It  is  said,"  cried  Johnson,  laughing,  "that  30 
he  has  been  a  Mohammedan."  "This  sarcasm," 
says  the  editor,  "probably  alludes  to  the  tenderness 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  9 

with  which  Gibbon's  malevolence  to  Christianity- 
induced  him  to  treat  Mohammedanism  in  his  history." 
Now,  the  sarcasm  was  uttered  in  1776;  and  that  part 
of  the  History  of  the  Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman 

5  Empire  which  relates  to  Mohammedanism  was  not 
published  till  1788,  twelve  years  after  the  date  of  this 
conversation,  and  near  four  years  after  the  death  of 
Johnson/ 

"It  was  in  the  year  1761,"  says  Mr.  Croker,  "that 

10  Goldsmith  published  his  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  This 
leads  the  editor  to  observe  a  more  serious  inaccuracy 
of    Mrs.  Piozzi  than   Mr.    Boswell  notices,  when  he 

^  A  defence  of  this  blunder  was  attempted.  That  the  celebrated 
chapters  in  which  Gibbon  has  traced  the  progress  of  Mohammed- 

15  anism  were  not  written  in  1776  could  not  be  denied.  But  it  was 
confidently  asserted  that  his  partiality  to  Mohammedanism  ap- 
peared in  his  first  volume.  This  assertion  is  untrue.  No  passage 
which  can  by  any  art  be  construed  into  the  faintest  indication  of 
the  faintest  partiality  for  Mohammedanism  has  ever  been  quoted 

20  or  ever  will  be  quoted  from  the  first  volume  of  the  History  of  the 
Decline  and  Fall  of  the  Roman  Empire. 

To  what,  then,  it  has  been  asked,  could  Johnson  allude  ?  Pos- 
sibly to  some  anecdote  or  some  conversation  of  which  all  trace  is 
lost.      One  conjecture  may  be  offered,  though  with   diffidence. 

25  Gibbon  tells  us  in  his  memoirs,  that  at  Oxford  he  took  a  fancy 
for  studying  Arabic,  and  was  prevented  from  doing  so  by  the 
remonstrances  of  his  tutor.  Soon  after  this  the  young  man  fell  in 
with  Bossuet's  controversial  writings,  and  was  speedily  converted 
by  them  to  the  Roman  Catholic  faith.     The  apostasy  of  a  gentle- 

30  man  commoner  would  of  course  be  for  a  time  the  chief  subject  of 
conversation  in  the  common  room  of  Magdalene.  His  whim 
about  Arabic  learning  would  naturally  be  mentioned,  and  would 
give  occasion  to  some  jokes  about  the  probability  of  his  turning 
Mussulman.     If  such  jokes  were  made,  Johnson,  who  frequently 

35  visited  Oxford,  was  very  likely  to  hear  of  them. 


1  o  Jl/J  CA  ULA  Y   ON 

says  Johnson  left  her  table  to  go  and  sell  the  Vicar 
of  Wakefield  for  Goldsmith.  Now  Dr.  Johnson  was 
not  acquainted  with  the  Thrales  till  1765,  four  years 
after  the  book  had  been  published."'  Mr.  Croker, 
in  reprehending  the  fancied  inaccuracy  of  Ivlrs.  5 
Thrale,  has  himself  shown  a  degree  of  inaccuracy,  or, 
to  speak  more  properly,  a  degree  of  ignorance,  hardly 
credible.  In  the  first  place,  Johnson  became  ac- 
quainted with  the  Thrales,  not  in  1765,  but  in  1764, 
and  during  the  last  weeks  of  1764  dined  with  them  10 
every  Thursday,  as  is  written  in  Mrs.  Piozzi's  anec- 
dotes. In  the  second  place,  Goldsmith  published 
the  Vicar  of  Wakefield,  not  in  1761,  but  in  1766. 
Mrs.  Thrale  does  not  pretend  to  remember  the  precise 
date  of  the  summons  which  called  Johnson  from  her  15 
table  to  the  help  of  his  friend.  She  says  only  that  it 
was  near  the  beginning  of  her  acquaintance  with 
Johnson,  and  certainly  not  later  than  1766.  Her 
accuracy  is  therefore  completely  vindicated.  It  was 
probably  after  one  of  her  Thursday  dinners  in  176420 
that  the  celebrated  scene  of  the  landlady,  the  sheriff's 
officer,  and  the  bottle  of  Madeira,  took  place. '^ 

The  very  page  which  contains  this  monstrous 
blunder,  contains  another  blunder,  if  possible,  more 
monstrous  still.  Sir  Joseph  Mawbey,  a  foolish  member  25 
of  Parliament,  at  whose  speeches  and  whose  pigstyes 
the  wits  of  Brookes's  were,  fifty  years  ago,  in  the 
habit  of  laughing  most  unmercifully,  stated,  on  the 
authority  of  Garrick,  that  Johnson,  while  sitting  in  a 

^  V.  409.  30 

^  This  paragraph  has  been  altered  ;    and  a  slight  inaccuracy, 
immaterial  to  the  argument,  has  been  removed. 


BOSWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  ii 

coffee-house  at  Oxford,  about  the  time  of  his  Doc- 
tor's degree,  used  some  contemptuous  expressions 
respecting  Home's  play  and  Macpherson's  Ossian. 
"Many   men"    he   said,    "many    women,    and  many 

5  children,  might  have  written  Douglas,"  Mr.  Croker 
conceives  that  he  has  detected  an  inaccuracy,  and 
glories  over  poor  Sir  Joseph  in  a  most  characteristic 
manner,  "I  have  quoted  this  anecdote  solely  with 
the  view  of  showing  to  how  little  credit  hearsay  anec- 

10  dotes  are  in  general  entitled.  Here  is  a  story  pub- 
lished by  Sir  Joseph  Mawbey,  a  member  of  the  House 
of  Commons,  and  a  person  every  way  worthy  of  credit, 
who  says  he  had  it  from  Garrick.  Now  mark:  John- 
son's visit  to  Oxford,  about  the  time  of  his  Doctor's 

15  degree,  was  in  1754,  the  first  time  he  had  been  there 
since  he  left  the  university.  But  Douglas  was  not 
acted  till  1756,  and  Ossian  not  published  till  1760. 
All,  therefore,  that  is  new  in  Sir  Joseph  Mawbey 's 
story  is  false."  ^     Assuredly  we  need  not  go  far  to  find 

20  ample  proof  that  a  member  of  the  House  of  Commons 
may  commit  a  very  gross  error.  Now  mark,  say  we, 
in  the  language  of  Mr.  Croker.  The  fact  is,  that 
Johnson  took  his  Master's  degree  in  1754/  and  his 
Doctor's  degree  in  1775.'     In  the  spring  of  1776*  he 

25  paid  a  visit  to  Oxford,  and  at  this  visit  a  conversation 
respecting  the  works  of  Home  and  Macpherson  might 
have  taken  place,  and,  in  all  probability,  did  take 
place.  The  only  real  objection  to  the  story  Mr. 
Croker  has  missed.     Boswell  states,  apparently  on  the 

30  best  authority,  that  as  early  at  least  as  the  year  1763, 
Johnson,  in   conversation  with   Blair,  used  the  same 
»V.  409.  2  I   252,  3111.205.  4  jll.  326. 


12  MACAULAY   ON 

expressions  respecting  Ossian,  which  Sir  Joseph  repre- 
sents him  as  having  used  respecting  Douglas/  Sir 
Joseph,  or  Garrick,  confounded,  we  suspect,  the  two 
stories.  But  their  error  is  venial,  compared  with  that 
of  Mr.  Croker.  5 

We  will  not  multiply  instances  of  this  scandalous 
inaccuracy.  It  is  clear  that  a  writer  who,  even  when 
warned  by  the  text  on  which  he  is  commenting,  falls 
into  such  mistakes  as  these,  is  entitled  to  no  confi- 
dence whatever.  Mr,  Croker  has  committed  an  error  lo 
of  five  years  with  respect  to  the  publication  of  Gold- 
smith's novel,  an  error  of  twelve  years  with  respect  to 
the  publication  of  part  of  Gibbon's  History,  an  error 
of  twenty-one  years  with  respect  to  an  event  in  John- 
son's life  so  important  as  the  taking  of  the  doctoral  15 
degree.  Two  of  these  three  errors  he  has  committed, 
while  ostentatiously  displaying  his  own  accuracy,  and 
correcting  what  he  represents  as  the  loose  assertions 
of  others.  How  can  his  readers  take  on  trust  his 
statements  concerning  the  births,  marriages,  divorces,  20 
and  deaths  of  a  crowd  of  people  whose  names  are 
scarcely  known  to  this  generation?  It  is  not  likely  that 
a  person  who  is  ignorant  of  what  almost  everybody 
knows  can  know  that  of  which  almost  everybody  is 
ignorant.  We  did  not  open  this  book  with  any  wish  25 
to  find  blemishes  in  it.  We  have  made  no  curious 
researches.  The  work  itself,  and  a  very  common 
knowledge  of  literary  and  political  history,  have 
enabled  us  to  detect  the  mistakes  which  we  have 
pointed  out,  and  many  other  mistakes  of  the  same  30 
kind.  We  must  say,  and  we  say  it  with  regret,  that 
'  I.  405- 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHN  SO  iV.  13 

we  do  not  consider  the  authority  of  Mr.  Croker, 
unsupported  by  other  evidence,  as  sufficient  to  justify 
any  writer  who  may  follow  him  in  relating  a  single 
anecdote  or  in  assigning  a  date  to  a  single  event. 

5  Mr.  Croker  shows  almost  as  much  ignorance  and 
heedlessness  in  his  criticisms  as  in  his  statements  con- 
cerning facts.  Dr.  Johnson  said,  very  reasonably  as 
it  appears  to  us,  that  some  of  the  satires  of  Juvenal 
are  too  gross  for  imitation.      Mr.  Croker,  who,  by  the 

10  way,  is  angry  with  Johnson  for  defending  Prior's  tales 
against  the  charge  of  indecency,  resents  this  aspersion 
on  Juvenal,  and  indeed  refuses  to  believe  that  the 
doctor  can  have  said  anything  so  absurd.  "He 
probably  said — some  passages  of  them — for  there  are 

15  none  of  Juvenal's  satires  to  which  the  same  objec- 
tion may  be  made  as  to  one  of  Horace's,  that  it  is 
altogether  gross  and  licentious.'"  Surely  Mr.  Croker 
can  never  have  read  the  second  and  ninth  satires  of 
Juvenal. 

20  Indeed,  the  decisions  of  this  editor  on  points  of 
classical  learning,  though  pronounced  in  a  very 
authoritative  tone,  are  generally  such  that,  if  a  school- 
boy under  our  care  were  to  utter  them,  our  soul 
assuredly  should  not  spare  for  his  crying.     It  is  no 

25  disgrace  to  a  gentleman  who  has  been  engaged  during 
near  thirty  years  in  political  life  that  he  has  forgotten 
his  Greek  and  Latin.  But  he  becomes  justly  ridicu- 
lous if,  when  no  longer  able  to  construe  a  plain  sen- 
tence, he  affects  to  sit  in  judgment  on  the  most  deli- 

30  cate  questions  of  style  and  metre.     From  one  blunder, 
a  blunder  which  no  good  scholar  would  have  made, 
'  I.  167. 


14  MACAU  LA  Y  OlST 

Mr.  Croker  was  saved,  as  he  informs  us,  by  Sir 
Robert  Peel,  who  quoted  a  passage  exactly  in  point 
from  Horace.  We  heartily  wish  that  Sir  Robert, 
whose  classical  attainments  are  well  known,  had  been 
more  frequently  consulted.  Unhappily  he  was  not  5 
always  at  his  friend's  elbow;  and  we  have  therefore  a 
rich  abundance  of  the  strangest  errors.  Boswell  has 
preserved  a  poor  epigram  by  Johnson,  inscribed  "Ad 
Lauram  parituram."  Mr.  Croker  censures  the  poet 
for  applying  the  word  puella  to  a  lady  in  Laura's  situ- 10 
ation,  and  for  talking  of  the  beauty  of  Lucina. 
"Lucina,"  he  says,  "was  never  famed  for  her 
beauty."  ^  If  Sir  Robert  Peel  had  seen  this  note,  he 
probably  would  have  again  refuted  Mr.  Croker 's  criti- 
cisms by  an  appeal  to  Horace.  In  the  secular  ode,  15 
Lucina  is  used  as  one  of  the  names  of  Diana,  and  the 
beauty  of  Diana  is  extolled  by  all  the  most  orthodox 
doctors  of  the  ancient  mythology,  from  Homer  in  his 
Odyssey  to  Claudian  in  his  Rape  of  Proserpine.  In 
another  ode,  Horace  describes  Diana  as  the  goddess  20 
who  assists  the  "laborantes  utero  puellas."  But  we 
are  ashamed  to  detain  our  readers  with  this  fourth- 
form  learning. 

Boswell  found,  in  his  tour  to  the  Hebrides,  an 
inscription  written  by  a  Scotch  minister.  It  runs  25 
thus:  "Joannes  Macleod,  &c.,  gentis  suae  Philarchus, 
&c..  Florae  Macdonald  matrimoniali  vinculo  conju- 
gatus  turrem  banc  Beganodunensem  proaevorum  habi- 
taculum  longe  vetustissimum,  diu  penitus  labefactatam, 
anno  ^rse  vulgaris  mdclxxxvi.  instauravit." — "The  30 
minister,"  says  Mr.  Croker,  "seems  to  have  been  no 
'  I.  133. 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  15 

contemptible  Latinist.  Is  not  Philarchus  a  very- 
happy  term  to  express  the  paternal  and  kindly 
authority  of  the  head  of  a  clan?"  ^  The  composition 
of    this    eminent    Latinist,    short    as    it    is,    contains 

5  sev^eral  words  that  are  just  as  much  Coptic  as  Latin, 
to  say  nothing  of  the  incorrect  structure  of  the  sen- 
tence. The  word  Philarchus,  even  if  it  were  a  happy 
term  expressing  a  paternal  and  kindly  authority, 
would  prove  nothing  for   the   minister's  Latin,  what- 

10  ever  it  might  prove  for  his  Greek.  But  it  is  clear 
that  the  word  Philarchus  means,  not  a  man  who  rules 
by  love,  but  a  man  who  loves  rule.  The  Attic  writers 
of  the  best  age  use  the  word  q)ikaf>xoi  in  the  sense 
which  we  assign  to  it.     Would  Mr.  Croker  translate 

15  q)i\6(Doq)Oi,  a  man  who  acquires  wisdom  by  means 
of  love,  or  q)i\oKep67]^,  a  man  who  makes  money  by 
means  of  love?  In  fact,  it  requires  no  Bentley  or 
Casaubon  to  perceive,  that  Philarchus  is  merely  a  false 
spelling  for  Phylarchus,  the  chief  of  a  tribe. 

20  Mr.  Croker  has  favored  us  with  some  Greek  of  his 
own.  "At  the  altar,"  says  Dr.  Johnson,  *T  recom- 
mended my  ^  <p.^^  "These  letters,"  says  the  editor, 
"(which  Dr.  Strahan  seems  not  to  have  understood) 
probably   mean   ^vtjroi    q)ikoiy    departed  friends,''"^ 

25     '  n.  458. 

'■^  IV.  251.     An  attempt  was  made  to  vindicate  this  blunder  by 
quoting  a  grossly  corrupt  passage  from  the  'I/vir^def  of  Euripides  : 
/3di?i  Kal  avTiaaov  yovdruv,  eiri  x^'^po-  ^aXovaa, 
TeKvuv  T£  ■&varG)v  Ko/iiaai  defxag. 
20      The  true  reading,  as  every  scholar  knows,  is,  tskvuv  rEKve6)To>v 
KOfiioai  dsfiag.     Indeed,  without  this  emendation  it  would  not  be 
easy  to  construe  the  words,  even  if  T^varuv  could  bear  the  meaning 
which  Mr.  Croker  assigns  to  it. 


l6  MACAU  LAY  ON 

Johnson  was  not  a  first-rate  Greek  scholar;  but  he 
knew  more  Greek  than  most  boys  when  they  leave 
school;  and  no  schoolboy  could  venture  to  use  the 
word  ^vrjxoi  in  the  sense  which  Mr.  Croker  ascribes 
to  it  without  imminent  danger  of  a  flogging.  5 

Mr.  Croker  has  also  given  us  a  specimen  of  his  skill 
in  translating  Latin.  Johnson  wrote  a  note  in  which 
he  consulted  his  friend,  Dr.  Lawrence,  on  the  pro- 
priety of  losing  some  blood.  The  note  contains  these 
words: — "Si  per  te  licet,  imperatur  nuncio  Holderum  lo 
ad  me  deducere. ' '  Johnson  should  rather  have  written 
"imperatum  est."  But  the  meaning  of  the  words  is 
perfectly  clear.  "If  you  say  yes,  the  messenger  has 
orders  to  bring  Holder  to  me."  Mr.  Croker  tran- 
slates the  words  as  follows:  '  'If  you  consent,  pray  tell  15 
the  messenger  to  bring  Holder  to  me."^  If  Mr. 
Croker  is  resolved  to  write  on  points  of  classical  learn- 
ing, we  would  advise  him  to  begin  by  giving  an  hour 
every  morning  to  our  old  friend  Corderius, 

Indeed,  we  cannot  open  any  volume  of  this  work  in  20 
any  place,  and  turn  it  over  for  two  minutes  in  any 
direction,  without  lighting  on  a  blunder.     Johnson, 
in  his  Life.of  Tickell,  stated  that  a  poem  entitled  The 
Royal  Progress,  which  appears  in  the  last  volume  of 
the  Spectator,  was  written  on  the  accession  of  George  25 
I.      The  word  "arrival"  was  afterwards  substituted 
for   "accession."      "The  reader  will   observe,"  says 
Mr.   Croker,    "that  the    Whig  term    accessioft,   which 
might  imply  legality,  was  altered  into  a  statement  of 
the  simple  fact  of  King  George's  arrival^  "^     Now  30 
Johnson,  though  a  bigoted  Tory,  was  not  quite  such  a 
^  V.  17.  2  IV.  425. 


BOSWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHN SOISr.  17 

fool  as  Mr.  Croker  here  represents  him  to  be.  In  the 
Life  of  Granville,  Lord  Lansdowne,  which  stands  a 
very  few  pages  from  the  Life  of  Tickell,  mention  is 
made  of  the  accession  of  Anne,  and  of  the  accession  of 

5  George  I.  The  word  arrival  was  used  in  the  Life  of 
Tickell  for  the  simplest  of  all  reasons.  It  was  used 
because  the  subject  of  the  poem  called  The  Royal 
Progress  was  the  arrival  of  the  king,  and  not  his 
accession,  which  took  place  near  two  months  before 

10  his  arrival. 

The  editor's  want  of  perspicacity  is  indeed  very 
amusing.  He  is  perpetually  telling  us  that  he  cannot 
understand  something  in  the  text  which  is  as  plain  as 
language  can  make  it.      "Mattaire,"  said   Dr.  John- 

15  son,  "wrote  Latin  verses  from  time  to  time,  and  pub- 
lised  a  set  in  his  old  age,  which  he  called  Senilia,  in 
which  he  shows  so  little  learning  or  taste  in  writing  as 
to  make  Carteret  a  dactyl."'  Hereupon  we  have 
this   note:     *'The    editor   does    not    understand    this 

2o objection,  nor  the  following  observation."  The  fol- 
lowing observation,  which  Mr.  Croker  cannot  under- 
stand, is  simply  this:  "In  matters  of  genealogy,"  says 
Johnson,  "it  is  necessary  to  give  the  bare  names  as 
they  are.     But  in  poetry  and  in  prose  of  any  elegance 

25  in  the  writing,  they  require  to  have  inflection  given  to 
them."  If  Mr.  Croker  had  told  Johnson  that  this 
was  unintelligible,  the  doctor  would  probably  have 
replied,  as  he  replied  on  another  occasion,  "I  have 
found  you  a  reason,  sir;   I  am  not  bound  to  find  you 

30 an  understanding."      Every  body    who   knows    any 
thing  of  Latinity  knows  that,  in  genealogical  tables, 
'  IV.  335. 


i8 


MACAULAY   ON 


Joannes  Baro  de  Carteret,  or  Vice-comes  de  Car- 
teret, may  be  tolerated,  but  that  in  compositions  which 
pretend  to  elegance,  Carteretus,  or  some  other  form 
which  admits  of  inflection,  ought  to  be  used. 

All  our  readers  have  doubtless  seen   the  two  dis-   5 
tichs  of  Sir  William  Jones,  respecting  the  division  of 
the  time  of  a  lawyer.     One  of  the  distichs  is  trans- 
lated from  some  old  Latin  lines;  the  other  is  original. 
The  former  runs  thus: 

"  Six  hours  to  sleep,  to  law's  grave  study  six,  lO 

Four  spend  in  prayer,  the  rest  on  nature  fix," 

"Rather,"  says  Sir  William  Jones, 

"  Six  hours  to  law,  to  soothing  slumbers  seven, 
Ten  to  the  world  allot,  and  all  to  heaven." 

The  second  couplet  puzzles  Mr.  Croker  strangely.  15 
"Sir  William,"   says  he,   "has  shortened  his  day  to 
twenty-three  hours,  and  the  general  advice  of  'all  to 
heaven'  destroys  the  peculiar  appropriation  of  a  cer- 
tain period  to  religious  exercises."  ^     Now,   we  did 
not   think  that  it  was  in  human   dulness  to  miss  the  20 
meaning  of  the  lines  so  completely.     Sir  William  dis- 
tributes  twenty-three    hours   among  various   employ- 
ments.     One  hour  is  thus  left  for  devotion.      The 
reader  expects  that  the  verse  will  end  with  "and  one 
to  heaven."     The  whole  point  of  the  lines  consists  in  25 
the  unexpected  substitution  of  "all"  for  "one."     The 
conceit  is  wretched  enough;   but  it  is  perfectly  intelli- 
gible,  and  never,  we  will  venture  to   say,  perplexed 
man,  woman,  or  child  before. 

^  V.  233. 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  19 

Poor  Tom  Davies,  after  failing  in  business,  tried 
to  live  by  his  pen.  Johnson  called  him  "an  author 
generated  by  the  corruption  of  a  bookseller."  This  is 
a  very  obvious  and  even  a  commonplace  allusion  to  the 

5  famous  dogma  of  the  old  physiologists.  Dryden  made 
a  similar  allusion  to  that  dogma  before  Johnson  was 
born.  Mr.  Croker,  however,  is  unable  to  understand 
what  the  doctor  meant.  "The  expression,"  he  says, 
"seems  not  quite  clear."     And  he   proceeds   to   talk 

10  about  the  generation  of  insects,  about  bursting  into 
gaudier  life,  and  Heaven  knows  what.' 

There  is  a  still  stranger  instance  of  the  editor's 
talent  for  finding  out  difficulty  in  what  is  perfectly 
plain.      "No  man,"  said  Johnson,  "can  now  be  made 

15  a  bishop  for  his  learning  and  piety."  "From  this  too 
just  observation,"  says  Boswell,  "there  are  some  emi- 
nent exceptions."  Mr.  Croker  is  puzzled  by  Bos- 
well's  very  natural  and  simple  language.  "That  a 
general  observation  should  be  pronounced  too  Just,  by 

20  the  very  person  who  admits  that  it  is  not  universally 
just,  is  not  a  little  odd."  "^ 

A  very  large  proportion  of  the  two  thousand  five 
hundred  notes  which  the  editor  boasts  of  having 
added  to  those  of  Boswell  and  Malone  consists  of  the 

25  flattest  and  poorest  reflections,  reflections  such  as  the 
least  intelligent  reader  is  quite  competent  to  make  for 
himself,  and  such  as  no  intelligent  reader  would  think 
it  worth  while  to  utter  aloud.  They  remind  us  of 
nothing  so  much  as  of  those  profound  and  interesting 

30  annotations  which  are  pencilled  by  sempstresses  and 
apothecaries'  boys  on  the  dog-eared  margins  of  novels 
1  IV.  323.  2  iii^  228. 


20  MACAU  LAY   ON 

borrowed  from  circulating  libraries;  "How  beauti- 
ful!" "Cursed  prosy  I"  "I  don't  like  Sir  Reginald 
Malcolm  at  all."  "I  think  Pelham  is  a  sad  dandy." 
Mr.  Croker  is  perpetually  stopping  us  in  our  progress 
through  the  most  delightful  narrative  in  the  language,  5 
to  observe  that  really  Dr.  Johnson  was  very  rude, 
that  he  talked  more  for  victory  than  for  truth,  that 
his  taste  for  port  wine  with  capillaire  in  it  was  very 
odd,  that  Boswell  was  impertinent,  that  it  was  foolish 
in  Mrs.  Thrale  to  marry  the  music-master;  and  so  10 
forth. 

We  cannot  speak  more  favorably  of  the  manner  in 
which  the  notes  are  written  than  of  the  matter  of 
which  they  consist.  We  find  in  every  page  words 
used  in  wrong  senses,  and  constructions  which  violate  15 
the  plainest  rules  of  grammar.  We  have  the  vulgar- 
ism of  "mutual  friend"  for  "common  friend."  We 
have  "fallacy"  used  as  synonymous  with  "falsehood." 
We  have  many  such  inextricable  labryrinths  of  pro- 
nouns as  that  which  follows:  "Lord  Erskine  was  fond  20 
of  this  anecdote;  he  told  it  to  the  editor  the  first  time 
that  he  had  the  honor  of  being  in  his  company." 
Lastly,  we  have  a  plentiful  supply  of  sentences  resem- 
bling those  which  we  subjoin.  "Markland,  who^  with 
Jortin  and  Thirlby,  Johnson  calls  three  contempo- 25 
raries  of  great  eminence."^  "Warburton  himself  did 
not  feel,  as  Mr.  Boswell  was  disposed  to  think  he  did, 
kindly  or  gratefully  of  Johnson."  *  "It  was  hiju  that 
Horace  Walpole  called  a  man  who  never  made  a  bad 
figure  but  as  an  author."  ^  One  or  two  of  these  sole- 30 
cisms  should  perhaps  be  attributed  to  the  printer,  who 
»  IV.  377.  2  IV.  415.  3 II.  461. 


BOSWELVS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  21 

has  certainly  done  his  best  to  fill  both  the  text  and 
the  notes  with  all  sorts  of  blunders.  In  truth,  he  and 
the  editor  have  between  them  made  the  book  so  bad 
that   we  do   not  well    see   how   it   could  have  been 

5   worse. 

When  we  turn  from  the  commentary  of  Mr.  Croker 
to  the  work  of  our  old  friend  Boswell,  we  find  it  not 
only  worse  printed  than  in  any  other  edition  with 
which  we  are  acquainted,  but  mangled   in  the  most 

10  wanton  manner.  Much  that  Boswell  inserted  in  his 
narrative  is,  without  the  shadow  of  a  reason,  degraded 
to  the  appendix.  The  editor  has  also  taken  upon  him- 
self to  alter  or  omit  passages  which  he  considers  as 
indecorous.     This  prudery  is  quite   unintelligible  to 

15  us.  There  is  nothing  immoral  in  Boswell' s  book,*^ 
nothing  which  tends  to  inflame  the  passions.  He 
sometimes  uses  plain  words.  But  if  this  be  a  taint 
which  requires  expurgation,  it  would  be  desirable  to 
begin    by    expurgating    the    morning    and     evening 

20  lessons.  The  delicate  office  which  Mr.  Croker  has 
undertaken  he  has  performed  in  the  most  capricious 
manner.  One  strong,  old-fashioned  English  word, 
familiar  to  all  who  read  their  Bibles,  is  changed  for  a 
softer   synonyme   in   some  passages,  and   suffered   to 

25  stand  unaltered  in  others.  In  one  place  a  faint 
allusion  made  by  Johnson  to  an  indelicate  subject,  an 
allusion  so  faint  that,  till  Mr.  Croker' s  note  pointed 
it  out  to  us,  we  had  never  noticed  it,  and  of  which  we 
are  quite  sure  that  the  meaning  would  never  be  dis- 

30  covered  by  any  of  those  for  whose  sake  books  are 
expurgated,  is  altogether  omitted.  In  another  place, 
a  coarse  and  stupid  jest  of  Dr.  Taylor  on  the  same 


22  MACAU  LA  V   ON 

subject,  expressed  in  the  broadest  language,  almost 
the  only  passage,  as  far  as  we  remember,  in  all  Bos- 
well's  book,  which  we  should  have  been  inclined  to 
leave  out,  is  suffered  to  remain. 

We  complain,  however,  much  more  of  the  additions   5 
than  of  the  omissions.     We  have  half  of  Mrs.  Thrale's 
book,  scraps  of   Mr,    Tyers,   scraps  of  Mr.    Murphy, 
scraps   of   Mr.    Cradock,    long  prosings   of   Sir   John 
Hawkins,  and  connecting  observations  by  Mr.  Croker 
himself,    inserted  into  the   midst   of    Bos  well's   text.  10 
To  this  practice  we  most  decidedly  object.     An  editor 
might  as  well  publish  Thucydides  with  extracts  from 
Diodorus   interspersed,   or  incorporate   the    Lives   of 
Suetonius  with   the   History  and  Annals  of  Tacitus. 
Mr.    Croker  tells  us,  indeed,   that  he  has  done  only  15 
what  Bos  well  wished  to  do,  and  was  prevented  from 
doing  by  the  law  of  copyright.      We  doubt  this  greatly. 
Boswell  has  studiously  abstained   from  availing  him- 
self of  the  information  given  by  his  rivals,  on  many 
occasions  on  which  he  might  have  cited  them  without  20 
subjecting  himself    to   the   charge    of    piracy.       Mr. 
Croker  has  himself,  on  one  occasion,  remarked  very 
justly  that  Boswell  was  unwilling  to  owe  any  obliga- 
tion to  Hawkins.     Bat,  be  this  as  it  may,  if  Boswell 
had  quoted   from   Sir   John   and   from   Mrs.  Thrale,  25 
he  would  have   been    guided   by  his   own   taste   and 
judgment  in  selecting  his  quotations.      On  what  Bos- 
well quoted  he  would  have  commented  with  perfect 
freedom ;    and   the   borrowed   passages,    so    selected, 
and    accompanied    by    such    comments,    would   have  30 
become  original.     They  would  have   dovetailed   into 
the  work,     No  hitch,  no  crease,  would  have  been  dis- 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  23 

cernible.      The   whole  would  appear  one  and   indi- 
visible: 

"  Ut  per  loeve  severos 
Effundat  junctura  ungues." 

5  This  is  not  the  case  with  Mr.  Croker's  insertions. 
They  are  not  chosen  as  Boswell  would  have  chosen 
them.  They  are  not  introduced  as  Boswell  would 
have  introduced  them.  They  differ  from  the  quota- 
tions scattered  through  the  original  Life  of  Johnson, 

10  as  a  withered  bough  stuck  in  the  ground  differs  from 
a  tree  skilfully  transplanted  with  all  its  life  about  it. 

Not  only  do  these  anecdotes  disfigure  Boswell's 
book;  they  are  themselves  disfigured  by  being 
inserted  in  his  book.     The  charm  of  Mrs.  Thrale's 

15  little  volume  is  utterly  destroyed.  The  feminine 
quickness  of  observation,  the  feminine  softness  of 
heart,  the  colloquial  incorrectness  and  vivacity  of 
style,  the  little  amusing  airs  of  a  half-learned  lady, 
the  delightful  garrulity,  the  "dear  Doctor  Johnson," 

20 the  "it  was  so  comical,"  all  disappear  in  Mr.  Croker's 
quotations.  The  lady  ceases  to  speak  in  the  first 
person  ;  and  her  anecdotes,  in  the  process  of  trans- 
fusion, become  as  flat  as  Champagne  in  decanters,  or 
Herodotus   in   Beloe's  version.     Sir   John   Hawkins, 

25  it  is  true,  loses  nothing;  and  for  the  best  of  reasons: 
Sir  John  had  nothing  to  lose. 

The  course  which  Mr.  Croker  ought  to  have  taken 
is  quite  clear.  He  should  have  reprinted  Boswell's 
narrative  precisely  as   Boswell  wrote   it;   and   in   the 

30  notes  of  the  appendix  he  should  have  placed  any 
anecdotes  which  he  might  have  thought  it  advisable 


24  MACAULAY  ON 

to  quote  from  other  writers.  This  would  have  been 
a  much  more  convenient  course  for  the  reader,  who 
has  now  constantly  to  keep  his  eye  on  the  margin  in 
order  to  see  whether  he  is  perusing  Boswell,  Mrs. 
Thrale,  Murphy,  Hawkins,  Tyers,  Cradock,  or  Mr.  5 
Croker.  We  greatly  doubt  whether  even  the  Tour  to 
the  Hebrides  ought  to  have  been  inserted  in  the  midst 
of  the  Life.  There  is  one  marked  distinction  between 
the  two  works.  Most  of  the  Tour  was  seen  by  John- 
son in  manuscript.  It  does  not  appear  that  he  ever  10 
saw  any  part  of  the  Life. 

We  love,  we  own,  to  read  the  great  productions  of 
the  human  mind  as  they  were  written.  W^e  have  this 
feeling  even  about  scientific  treatises ;  though  we  know 
that  the  sciences  are  always  in  a  state  of  progression,  15 
and  that  the  alterations  made  by  a  modern  editor  in 
an  old  book  on  any  branch  of  natural  or  political  phi- 
losophy are  likely  to  be  improvements.  Some  errors 
have  been  detected  by  writers  of  this  generation  in  the 
speculations  of  Adam  Smith.  A  short  cut  has  been  20 
made  to  much  knowledge  at  which  Sir  Isaac  Newton 
arrived  through  arduous  and  circuitous  paths.  Yet 
we  still  look  with  peculiar  veneration  on  the  Wealth 
of  Nations  and  on  the  Principia,  and  should  regret  to 
see  either  of  those  great  works  garbled  even  by  the  25 
ablest  hands.  But  in  works  which  owe  much  of  their 
interest  to  the  character  and  situation  of  the  writers 
the  case  is  infinitely  stronger.  What  man  of  taste  and 
feeling  can  endure  rifacimenti^  harmonies,  abridg- 
ments, expurgated  editions?  Who  ever  reads  a  stage  30 
copy  of  a  play  when  he  can  procure  the  original? 
Who  ever  cut  open   Mrs.    Siddons's   Milton?     Who 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  25 

ever  got  through  ten  pages  of  Mr.  Gilpin's  translation 
of  John  Bunyan's  Pilgrim  into  modern  English? 
Who  would  lose,  in  the  confusion  of  a  Diatessaron, 
the  peculiar  charm  which  belongs  to  the  narrative  of 
5  the  disciple  whom  Jesus  loved?  The  feeling  of  a 
reader  who  has  become  intimate  with  any  great  orig- 
inal work  is  that  which  Adam  expressed  towards  his 

bride: 

"  Should  God  create  another  Eve,  and  I 
10  Another  rib  afford,  yet  loss  of  thee 

Would  never  from  my  heart." 

No  substitute,  however  exquisitely  formed,  will  fill 
the  void  left  by  the  original.  The  second  beauty  may 
be  equal  or  superior  to  the  first;   but  still  it  is  not  she. 

15  The  reasons  which  Mr.  Croker  has  given  for  incor- 
porating passages  from  Sir  John  Hawkins  and  Mrs. 
Thrale  with  the  narrative  of  Boswell  would  vindicate 
the  adulteration  of  half  the  classical  works  in  the  lan- 
guage.     If    Pepys's    Diary   and    Mrs.     Hutchinson's 

20  Memoirs  had  been  published  a  hundred  years  ago,  no 
human  being  can  doubt  that  Mr.  Hume  would  have 
made  use  of  those  books  in  his  History  of  Eng- 
land. But  would  it,  on  that  account,  be  judicious 
in  a  writer  of  our  own  times  to  publish  an  edition 

25  of  Hume's  History  of  England,  in  which  large 
extracts  from  Pepys  and  Mrs.  Hutchinson  should  be 
incorporated  with  the  original  text?  Surely  not. 
Hume's  history,  be  its  faults  what  they  may,  is  now 
one  great  entire  work,  the  production  of  one  vigorous 

30  mind,  Avorking  on  such  materials  as  were  within  its 
reach.  Additions  made  by  another  hand  may  supply 
a  particular  deficiency,  but  would  grievously  injure 


2  6  MACAULAY  ON 

the  general  effect.  With  Boswell's  book  the  case  is 
stronger.  There  is  scarcely,  in  the  whole  compass  of 
literature,  a  book  which  bears  interpolation  so  ill. 
We  know  no  production  of  the  human  mind  which 
has  so  much  of  what  may  be  called  the  race,  so  much  5 
of  the  peculiar  flavor  of  the  soil  from  which  it  sprang. 
The  work  could  never  have  been  written  if  the  writer 
had  not  been  precisely  what  he  was.  His  character 
is  displayed  in  every  page,  and  this  display  of  char- 
acter gives  a  delightful  interest  to  many  passages  10 
which  have  no  other  interest. 

The  Life  of  Johnson  is  assuredly  a  great,  a  very 
great  work.  Homer  is  not  more  decidedly  the  first 
of  heroic  poets,  Shakespeare  is  not  more  decidedly 
the  first  of  dramatists,  Demosthenes  is  not  more  15 
decidedly  the  first  of  orators,  than  Boswell  is  the  first 
of  biographers.  He  has  no  second.  He  has  dis- 
tanced all  his  competitors  so  decidedly  that  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  place  them.  Eclipse  is  first,  and  the 
rest  nowhere.  20 

We  are  not  sure  that  there  is  in  the  whole  history 
of  the  human  intellect  so  strange  a  phaenomenon  as 
this  book.  Many  of  the  greatest  men  that  ever  lived 
have  written  biography.  Boswell  was  one  of  the 
smallest  men  that  ever  lived,  and  he  has  beaten  them  25 
all.  He  was,  if  we  are  to  give  any  credit  to  his  own 
account  or  to  the  united  testimony  of  all  who  knew 
him,  a  man  of  the  meanest  and  feeblest  intellect. 
Johnson  described  him  as  a  fellow  who  had  missed 
his  only  chance  of  immortality  by  not  having  been  30 
alive  when  the  Dunciad  was  written.  Beauclerk  used 
his  name  as  a  proverbial*expression  for  a  bore.      He 


B  OS  WELL  S  L IFE   OF  JOHNSON.  2  7 

was  the  laughing-stock  of  the  whole  of  that  brilliant 
society  which  has  owed  to  him  the  greater  part  of  its 
fame.  He  was  always  laying  himself  at  the  feet  of 
some  eminent  man,  and  begging  to  be  spit  upon  and 

5  trampled  upon.  He  was  always  earning  some  ridicu- 
lous nickname,  and  then  "binding  it  as  a  crown  unto 
him,"  not  merely  in  metaphor,  .but  literally.  He 
exhibited  himself,  at  the  Shakespeare  Jubilee,  to  all 
the   crowd  which    filled   Stratford-on-Avon,     with    a 

10  placard  round  his  hat  bearing  the  inscription  of  Cor- 
sica Boswell.  In  his  Tour,  he  proclaimed  to  all  the 
world  that  at  Edinburgh  he  was  known  by  the  appella- 
tion of  Paoli  Boswell.  Servile  and  impertinent,  shal- 
low and  pedantic,  a  bigot  and  a  sot,  bloated  with  family 

15  pride,  and  eternally  blustering  about  the  dignity  of  a 
born  gentleman,  yet  stooping  to  be  a  talebearer,  an 
eavesdropper,  a  common  butt  in  the  taverns  of  Lon- 
don, so  curious  to  know  every  body  who  was  talked 
about,  that,  Tory  and  high  Churchman  as  he  was,  he 

20  manoeuvred,  we  have  been  told,  for  an  introduction 
to  Tom  Paine,  so  vain  of  the  most  childish  distinc- 
tions, that  when  he  had  been  to  court,  he  drove  to  the 
office  where  his  book  was  printing  without  changing 
his    clothes,    and  summoned   all  the  printers'   devils 

25  to  admire  his  new  ruffles  and  sword;  such  was  this 
man,  and  such  he  was  content  and  proud  to  be. 
Every  thing  which  another  man  would  have  hidden, 
every  thing  the  publication  of  which  would  have  made 
another  man   hang  himself,   was   matter   of   gay  and 

30  clamorous  exultation  to  his  weak  and  diseased  mind. 
What  silly  things  he  said,  what  bitter  retorts  he  pro- 
voked, how  at  one   place  he   was  troubled  with   evil 


28  MACAULAY   OuV 

presentiments  which  came  to  nothing,  how  at  another 
place,  on  waking  from  a  drunken  doze,  he  read  the 
prayerbook  and  took  a  hair  of  the  dog  that  had  bitten 
him,  how  he  went  to  see  men  hanged  and  came  away 
maudUn,  how  he  added  five  hundred  pounds  to  the  5 
fortune  of  one  of  his  babies  because  she  was  not 
scared  at  Johnson's  ugly  face,  how  he  was  frightened 
out  of  his  wits  at  sea,  and  how  the  sailors  quieted 
him  as  they  would  have  quieted  a  child,  how  tipsy  he 
was  at  Lady  Cork's  one  evening  and  how  much  his  10 
merriment  annoyed  the  ladies,  how  impertinent  he 
was  to  the  Duchess  of  Argyle  and  with  what  stately 
contempt  she  put  down  his  impertinence,  how  Colonel 
Macleod  sneered  to  his  face  at  his  impudent  ob- 
trusiveness,  how  his  father  and  the  very  wife  of  his  15 
bosom  laughed  and  fretted  at  his  fooleries ;  all  these 
things  he  proclaimed  to  all  the  world,  as  if  they  had 
been  subjects  for  pride  and  ostentatious  rejoicing. 
All  the  caprices  of  his  temper,  all  the  illusions  of  his 
vanity,  all  his  hypochondriac  whimsies,  all  his  castles  20 
in  the  air,  he  displayed  with  a  cool  self-complacency, 
a  perfect  unconsciousness  that  he  was  making  a  fool 
of  himself,  to  which  it  is  impossible  to  find  a  parallel 
in  the  whole  history  of  mankind.  He  has  used  many 
people  ill;  but  assuredly  he  has  used  nobody  so  ill  as  25 
himself. 

That  such  a  man  should  have  written  one  of  the 
best  books  in  the  world  is  strange  enough.  But  this 
is  not  all.  Tvlany  persons  who  have  conducted  them- 
selves foolishly  in  active  life,  and  whose  conversa-  30 
tion  has  indicated  no  superior  powers  of  mind,  have 
left  us  valuable  works.     Goldsmith   was  very  justly 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSOh^.  29 

described  by  one  of  his  contemporaries  as  an  inspired 
idiot,  and  by  another  as  a  being 

"  Who  wrote  like  an  angel,  and  talked  like  poor  Poll." 

La  Fontaine  was  in  society  a  mere   simpleton.     His 

5  blunders  would  not  come  in  amiss  among  the  stories 
of  Hierocles.  But  these  men  attained  literary  emi- 
nence in  spite  of  their  weaknesses.  Boswell  attained 
it  by  reason  of  his  weaknesses.  If  he  had  not  been  a 
great  fool,  he  would  never  have  been  a  great  writer. 

10  Without  all  the  qualities  which  made  him  the  jest  and 
the  torment  of  those  among  whom  he  lived,  without 
the  officiousness,  the  inquisitiveness,  the  effrontery, 
the  toad-eating,  the  insensibility  to  all  reproof,  he 
never  could  have  produced  so  excellent  a  book.     He 

15  was  a  slave  proud  of  his  servitude,  a  Paul  Pry,  con- 
vinced that  his  own  curiosity  and  garrulity  were  vir- 
tues, an  unsafe  companion  who  never  scrupled  to 
repay  the  most  liberal  hospitality  by  the  basest  viola- 
tion of  confidence,  a  man  without  delicacy,  without 

20  shame,  without  sense  enough  to  know  when  he  was 
hurting  the  feelings  of  others  or  when  he  was  expos- 
ing himself  to  derision;  and  because  he  was  all  this, 
he  has,  in  an  important  department  of  literature, 
immeasurably  surpassed  such  writers  as  Tacitus,  Clar- 

25  endon,  Alfieri,  and  his  own  idol  Johnson. 

Of  the  talents  which  ordinarily  raise  men  to  emi- 
nence as  writers,  Boswell  had  absolutely  none.  There 
is  not  in  all  his  books  a  single  remark  of  his  own  on 
literature,   politics,  religion,  or  society,  which   is  not 

30  either  commonplace  or  absurd.  His  dissertations  on 
hereditary  gentility,  on  the  slave-trade,    and   on  the 


30  MACAULAY  ON 

entailing  of  landed  estates,  may  serve  as  examples. 
To  say  that  these  passages  are  sophistical  would  be  to 
pay  them  an  extravagant  compliment.  They  have  no 
pretence  to  argument,  or  even  to  meaning.  He  has 
reported  innumerable  observations  made  by  himself  5 
in  the  course  of  conversation.  Of  those  observations 
we  do  not  remember  one  which  is  above  the  intel- 
lectual capacity  of  a  boy  of  fifteen.  He  has  printed 
many  of  his  own  letters,  and  in  these  letters  he  is 
always  ranting  or  twaddling.  Logic,  eloquence,  wit,  10 
taste,  all  those  things  which  are  generally  considered 
as  making  a  book  valuable,  were  utterly  wanting  to 
him.  He  had,  indeed,  a  quick  observation  and  a 
retentive  memory.  These  qualities,  if  he  had  been 
a  man  of  sense  and  virtue,  would  scarcely  of  them- 15 
selves  have  sufficed  to  make  him  conspicuous ;  but 
because  he  was  a  dunce,  a  parasite,  and  a  coxcomb, 
they  have  made  him  immortal. 

Those  parts  of    his    book  which,    considered   ab- 
stractedly, are  most  utterly  worthless,  are  delightful  20 
when  we  read  them  as  illustrations  of  the  character  of 
the  writer.     Bad   in   themselves,  they   are   good  dra- 
matically,  like  the   nonsense   of  Justice  Shallow,  the 
clipped  English  of  Dr.  Caius,  or  the   misplaced  con- 
sonants of  Fluellen.     Of  all  confessors,  Boswell  is  the  25 
most    candid.     Other   men    who    have    pretended   to 
lay   open   their   own   hearts,   Rousseau,   for  example, 
and  Lord  Byron,  have  evidently  written  with  a  con- 
stant view  to  effect,  "and  are  to  be  then  most  distrusted 
when  they  seem  to  be  most  sincere.     There  is  scarcely  30 
any  man  who  would  not  rather  accuse  himself  of  great 
crimes  and  of  dark  and  tempestuous  passions  than  pro- 


BOSWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  31 

claim  all  his  little  vanities  and  wild  fancies.  It  would 
be  easier  to  find  a  person  who  would  avow  actions  like 
those  of  Caesar  Borgia  or  Danton,  than  one  who  would 
publish  a  daydream  like  those  of  Alnaschar  and  Mal- 

5  volio.  Those  weaknesses  which  most  men  keep  cov- 
ered up  in  the  most  secret  places  of  the  mind,  not  to 
be  disclosed  to  the  eye  of  friendship  or  of  love,  were 
precisely  the  weaknesses  which  Boswell  paraded  before 
all  the  world.     He  was  perfectly  frank,  because  the 

10  weakness  of  his  understanding  and  the  tumult  of  his 
spirits  prevented  him  from  knowing  when  he  made 
himself  ridiculous.  His  book  resembles  nothing  so 
much  as  the  conversation  of  the  inmates  of  the  Palace 
of  Truth. 

15  His  fame  is  great ;  and  it  will,  we  have  no  doubt, 
be  lasting;  but  it  is  fame  of  a  peculiar  kind,  and 
indeed  marvellously  resembles  infamy.  We  remem- 
ber no  other  case  in  which  the  world  has  made  so 
great  a  distinction  between  a  book  and  its  author.     In 

20  general,  the  book  and  the  author  are  considered  as 
one.  To  admire  the  book  is  to  admire  the  author. 
The  case  of  Boswell  is  an  exception,  we  think  the 
only  exception,  to  this  rule.  His  work  is  universally 
allowed  to  be  interesting,  instructive,  eminently  orig- 

25inal;  yet  it  has  brought  him  nothing  but  contempt. 
All  the  world  reads  it;  all  the  world  delights  in  it; 
yet  we  do  not  remember  ever  to  have  read  or  ever  to 
have  heard  any  expression  of  respect  and  admiration 
for  the  man  to  whom  we  owe  so  much  instruction  and 

30  amusement.  While  edition  after  edition  of  his  book 
was  coming  forth,  his  son,  as  Mr.  Croker  tells  us,  was 
ashamed  of  it,  and  hated  to  hear  it  mentioned.     This 


32  MA  CAUL  AY    ON 

feeling  was  natural  and  reasonable.  Sir  Alexander  saw 
that,  in  proportion  to  the  celebrity  of  the  work,  was  the 
degradation  of  the  author.  The  very  editors  of  this 
unfortunate  gentleman's  books  have  forgotten  their 
allegiance,  and,  like  those  Puritan  casuists  who  took  5 
arms  by  the  authority  of  the  king  against  his  person, 
have  attacked  the  writer  while  doing  homage  to  the 
writings.  Mr.  Croker,  for  example,  has  published 
two  thousand  five  hundred  notes  on  the  life  of  John- 
son, and  yet  scarcely  ever  mentions  the  biographer  10 
whose  performance  he  has  taken  such  pains  to  illus- 
trate without  some  expression  of  contempt. 

An  ill-natured  man   Boswell  certainly  was  not;  yet 
the   malignity  of  the   most    malignant    satirist    could 
scarcely  cut    deeper   than  his   thoughtless   loquacity.  15 
Having  himself  no   sensibility   to   derision   and  con- 
tempt, he  took  it   for   granted   that   all   others    were 
equally  callous.     He  was  not  ashamed  to  exhibit  him- 
self to  the  whole  world  as  a  common  spy,  a  common 
tattler,    a  humble  companion  without  the  excuse  of  20 
poverty,  and  to  tell  a  hundred  stories  of  his  own  pert- 
ness  and  folly,  and  of  the  insults  which  his  pertness  and 
folly  brought  upon  him.     It  was  natural  that  he  should 
show  little  discretion  in  cases  in  which  the  feeling  or 
the  honor  of  others  might  be  concerned.      No   man,  25 
surely,  ever  published  such  stories  respecting  persons 
whom   he  professed   to  love   and  revere.     He  would 
infallibly  have  made  his  hero  as  contemptible  as  he 
has  made  himself,  had  not  his  hero  really  possessed 
some  moral  and   intellectual  qualities  of  a  very  high  30 
order.     The  best  proof  that  Johnson   was  really    an 
extraordinary  man  is    that  his  character,  instead  of 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  ZZ 

being  degraded,  has,  on  the  whole,  been  decidedly 
raised  by  a  work  in  which  all  his  vices  and  weaknesses 
are  exposed  more  unsparingly  than  they  ever  were 
exposed  by  Churchill  or  by  Kenrick. 

5  Johnson  grown  old,  Johnson  in  the  fulness  of  his 
fame  and  in  the  enjoyment  of  a  competent  fortune, 
is  better  known  to  us  than  any  other  man  in  history. 
Every  thing  about  him,  his  coat,  his  wig,  his  figure, 
his  face,  his  scrofula,  his  St.Vitus's  dance,  his  rolling 

lowalk,  his  blinking  eye,  the  outward  signs  which  too 
clearly  marked  his  approbation  of  his  dinner,  his 
insatiable  appetite  for  fish-sauce  and  veal-pie  with 
plums,  his  inextinguishable  thirst  for  tea,  his  trick  of 
touching  the  posts  as  he  walked,  his  mysterious  prac- 

15  tice  of  treasuring  up  scraps  of  orange-peel,  his  morn- 
ing slumbers,  his  midnight  disputations,  his  contor- 
tions, his  mutterings,  his  gruntings,  his  puffings,  his 
vigorous,  acute,  and  ready  eloquence,  his  sarcastic 
wit,    his    vehemence,    his   insolence,   his   fits  of   tem- 

2opestuous  rage,  his  queer  inmates,  old  Mr.  Levett  and 
blind  Mrs.  Williams,  the  cat  Hodge  and  the  negro 
Frank,  all  are  as  familiar  to  us  as  the  objects  by 
which  we  have  been  surrounded  from  childhood. 
But  we  have  no  minute  information  respecting  those 

25  years  of  Johnson's  life  during  which  his  character  and 
his  manners  became  immutably  fixed.  We  know 
him,  not  as  he  was  known  to  the  men  of  his  own 
generation,  but  as  he  was  known  to  men  whose  father 
he  might  have  been.     That  celebrated  club  of  which 

30  he  was  the  most  distinguished  member  contained  few 
persons  who  could  remember  a  time  when  his  fame 
was  not  fully  established  and   his  habits  completely 


34  MACAULAY  ON 

formed.  He  had  made  himself  a  name  in  literature 
while  Reynolds  and  the  Wartons  were  still  boys.  He 
was  about  twenty  years  older  than  Burke,  Goldsmith, 
and  Gerard  Hamilton,  about  thirty  years  older  than 
Gibbon,  Beauclerk,  and  Langton,  and  about  forty  5 
years  older  than  Lord  Stowell,  Sir  William  Jones,  and 
Windham.  Boswell  and  Mrs.  Thrale,  the  two  writers 
from  whom  we  derive  most  of  our  knowledge  respect- 
ing him,  never  saw  him  till  long  after  he  was  fifty 
years  old,  till  most  of  his  great  works  had  become  10 
classical,  and  till  the  pension  bestowed  on  him  by  the 
Crown  had  placed  him  above  poverty.  Of  those 
eminent  men  who  were  his  most  intimate  associates 
toward  the  close  of  his  life,  the  only  one,  as  far  as  we 
remember,  who  knew  him  during  the  first  ten  or  15 
twelve  years  of  his  residence  in  the  capital,  was  David 
Garrick;  and  it  does  not  appear  that,  during  those 
years,  David  Garrick  saw  much  of  his  fellow-towns- 
man. 

Johnson  came  up  to  London  precisely  at  the  time  20 
when  the  condition  of  a  man  of  letters  was  most  miser- 
able and   degraded.     It    was  a  dark  night  between 
two  sunny  days.     The  age  of  patronage  had  passed 
away.     The  age  of  general  curiosity  and  intelligence 
had    not    arrived.       The    number    of    readers    is    at  25" 
present  so  great  that  a  popular  author  may  subsist  in 
comfort  and  opulence  on  the  profits  of  his  works.     In 
the  reigns   of  William   the  Third,  of  Anne,    and   of 
George   the   First,  even   such  men   as   Congreve  and 
Addison  would  scarcely  have  been  able  to  live  like  30 
gentlemen    by  the  mere  sale  of  their  writings.     But 
the  deficiency  of  the  natural  demand   for  literature 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  35 

was,  at  the  close  of  the  seventeenth  and  at  the  begin- 
ning of  the  eighteenth  century,  more  than  made  up  by 
artificial  encouragement,  by  a  vast  system  of  bounties 
and  premiums.     There  was,  perhaps,  never  a  time  at 

5  which  the  rewards  of  literary  merit  were  so  splendid, 
at  which  men  who  could  write  well  found  such  easy 
admittance  into  the  most  distinguished  society,  and 
to  the  highest  honors  of  the  state.  The  chiefs  of 
both  the  great  parties  into    which  the   kingdom  was 

10  divided  patronized  literature  with  emulous  munifi- 
cence. Congreve,  when  he  had  scarcely  attained  his 
majority,  was  rewarded  for  his  first  comedy  with 
places  which  made  him  independent  for  life.  Smith, 
though  his  Hippolytus  and  Phaedra  failed,  would  have 

15  been  consoled  with  three  hundred  a  year  but  for  his 
own  folly.  Rowe  was  not  only  Poet  Laureate,  but 
also  land-surveyor  of  the  customs  in  the  port  of  Lon- 
don, clerk  of  the  council  to  the  Prince  of  Wales, 
and  secretary  of  the  Presentations  to  the  Lord  Chan- 

2ocellor.  Hughes  was  secretary  to  the  Commissions  of 
the  Peace.  Ambrose  Philips  was  judge  of  the  Prerog- 
ative Court  in  Ireland.  Locke  was  Commissioner  of 
Appeals  and  of  the  Board  of  Trade.  Newton  was 
Master  of  the   Mint.     Stepney   and   Prior  were   em- 

25  ployed  in  embassies  of  high  dignity  and  importance. 
Gay,  who  commenced  life  as  apprentice  to  a  silk 
mercer,  became  a  secretary  of  legation  at  five-and- 
twenty.  It  was  to  a  poem  on  the  Death  of  Charles 
the  Second,  and  to  the  City  and  Country  Mouse,  that 

30  Montague  owed  his  introduction  into  public  life,  his 
earldom,  his  garter,  and  his  Auditorship  of  the  Ex- 
chequer.    Swift,  but  for  the  unconquerable  prejudice] 


36  MA  CAUL  AY  OAT 

of  the  queen,  would  have  been  a  bishop.  Oxford,  with 
his  white  staff  in  liis  hand,  passed  through  the  crowd 
of  his  suitors  to  welcome  Parnell,  when  that  ingenious 
writer  deserted  the  Whigs.  Steele  was  a  commissioner 
of  stamps  and  a  member  of  Parliament.  Arthur  5. 
Mainwaring  was  a  commissioner  of  the  customs,  and 
auditor  of  the  imprest.  Tickell  was  secretary  to  the 
Lords  Justices  of  Ireland.  Addison  was  secretary 
of  state. 

This  liberal  patronage  was  brought  into  fashion,  as  10 
it  seems,  by  the  magnificent  Dorset,  almost  the  only 
noble  versifier  in  the  court  of  Charles  the  Second  who 
possessed  talents  for    composition  which  were  inde- 
pendent of  the  aid  of  a  coronet.     Montague  owed 
his  elevation   to  the  favor  of  Dorset,   and  imitated  15 
through  the  whole  course  of  his  life  the  liberality  to 
which  he  was  himself  so  greatly  indebted.     The  Tory 
leaders,    Harley  and  Bolingbroke  in  particular,  vied 
with   the   chiefs   of   the   Whig  party   in   zeal   for   the 
encouragement  of  letters.     But  soon  after  the  acces- 20 
sion  of  the  house  of  Hanover  a  change  took  place. 
The  supreme  power  passed  to  a  man  who  cared  little 
for   poetry  or   eloquence.       The   importance   of    the 
House  of  Commons  was  constantly  on  the  increase. 
The  government  was  under  the  necessity  of  bartering  25 
for   parliamentary   support  much   of    that  patronage 
which  had  been  employed  in  fostering  literary  merit; 
and  Walpole  was  by  no  means  inclined  to  divert  any 
part  of  the  fund  of  corruption  to  purposes  which  he  con- 
sidered as  idle.     He  had  eminent-  talents  for  govern-  30 
ment  and  for  debate.     But  he  had  paid  little  attention 
to  books,  and  felt  little  respect  for  authors.     One  of 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  37 

the  coarse  jokes  of  his  friend,  Sir  Charles  Hanbury 
Williams,  was  far  more  pleasing  to  him  than  Thomson's 
Seasons  or  Richardson's  Pamela.  He  had  observed 
that  some  of  the  distinguished  writers  whom  the  favor 

5  of  Halifax  had  turned  into  statesmen  had  been  mere 
encumbrances  to  their  party,  dawdlers  in  office,  and 
mutes  in  Parliament.  During  the  whole  course  of  his 
administration,  therefore,  he  scarcely  befriended  a 
single   man  of   genius.     The   best  writers  of  the  age 

logave  all  their  support  to  the  opposition,  and  contrib- 
uted to  excite  that  discontent  which,  after  plunging 
the  nation  into  a  foolish  and  unjust  war,  overthrew 
the  minister  to  make  room  for  men  less  able  and 
equally  immoral.     The  opposition   could  reward   its 

15  eulogists  with  little  more  than  promises  and  caresses. 
St.  James's  would  give  nothing:  Leicester  house  had 
nothing  to  give. 

Thus,  at  the   time  when   Johnson   commenced  his 
literary  career,  a  writer  had   little  to  hope  from   the 

20  patronage  of  powerful  individuals.  The  patronage 
of  the  public  did  not  yet  furnish  the  means  of  com- 
fortable subsistence.  The  prices  paid  by  booksellers 
to  authors  were  so  low  that  a  man  of  considerable 
talents  and  unremitting  industry  could  do  little  more 

25  than  provide  for  the  day  which  was  passing  over  him. 
The  lean  kine  had  eaten  up  the  fat  kine.  The  thin 
and  withered  ears  had  devoured  the  good  ears.  The 
season  of  rich  harvests  was  over,  and  the  period  of 
famine  had  begun.     All  that  is  squalid  and  miserable 

30  might  now  be  sun\rned  up  in  the  word  Poet.  That 
word  denoted  a  creature  dressed  like  a  scarecrow, 
familiar  with  compters  and  sponging-houses,  and  per- 


38  MACAULAY  ON 

fectly  qualified  to  decide  on  the  comparative  merits 
of  the  Common  Side  in  the  King's  Bench  prison  and 
of  Mount  Scoundrel  in  the  Fleet.  Even  the  poorest 
pitied  him;  and  they  well  might  pity  him.  For  if 
their  condition  was  equally  abject,  their  aspirings  were  5 
not  equally  high,  nor  their  sense  of  insult  equally 
acute.  To  lodge  in  a  garret  up  four  pair  of  stairs, 
to  dine  in  a  cellar  among  footmen  out  of  place,  to 
translate  ten  hours  a  day  for  the  wages  of  a  ditcher, 
to  be  hunted  by  bailiffs  from  one  haunt  of  beggary  10 
and  pestilence  to  another,  from  Grub  Street  to  St. 
George's  Fields,  and  from  St.  George's  Fields  to  the 
alleys  behind  St.  Martin's  church,  to  sleep  on  a  bulk 
in  June  and  amidst  the  ashes  of  a  glass-house  in 
December,  to  die  in  an  hospital  and  to  be  buried  in  15 
a  parish  vault,  was  the  fate  of  more  than  one  writer 
who,  if  he  had  lived  thirty  years  earlier,  would  have 
been  admitted  to  the  sittings  of  the  Kitcat  or  the 
Scriblerus  club,  would  have  sat  in  Parliament,  and 
would  have  been  intrusted  with  embassies  to  the  High  20 
Allies;  who,  if  he  had  lived  in  our  time,  would  have 
found  encouragement  scarcely  less  munificent  in 
Albemarle   Street  or  in   Paternoster   Row. 

As  every  climate  has  its  peculiar  diseases,  so  every 
walk  of  life  has  its  peculiar  temptations.  The  literary  25 
character,  assuredly,  has  always  had  its  share  of 
faults:  vanity,  jealousy,  morbid  sensibility.  To  these 
faults  were  now  superadded  the  faults  which  are 
commonly  found  in  men  whose  livelihood  is  precarious 
and  whose  principles  are  exposed  to  the  trial  of  severe  30 
distress.  All  the  vices  of  the  gambler  and  of  the 
beggar  were  blended  with  those  of  the  author.     The 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  J  OIL N  SON.  39 

prizes  in  the  wretched  lottery  of  book-making  were 
scarcely  less  ruinous  than  the  blanks.  If  good  for- 
tune came,  it  came  in  such  a  manner  that  it  was  almost 
certain  to  be  abused.     After  months  of  starvation  and 

5  despair,  a  full  third  night  or  a  well-received  dedica- 
tion filled  the  pocket  of  the  lean,  ragged,  unwashed 
poet  with  guineas.  He  hastened  to  enjoy  those  lux- 
uries with  the  images  of  which  his  mind  had  been 
haunted  while  he  was  sleeping  amidst  the  cinders  and 

10  eating  potatoes  at  the  Irish  ordinary  in  Shoe  Lane. 
A  week  of  taverns  soon  qualified  him  for  another 
year  of  night-cellars.  Such  was  the  life  of  Savage, 
of  Boyse,  and  of  a  crowd  of  others.  Sometimes  blaz- 
ing   in    gold-laced    hats   and    waistcoats;    sometimes 

15  lying  in  bed  because  tlieir  coats  had  gone  to  pieces,  or 
wearing  paper  cravats  because  their  linen  was  in 
pawn ;  sometimes  drinking  Champagne  and  Tokay 
with  Betty  Careless;  sometimes  standing  at  the 
window  of  an  eating-house  in  Porridge  island,  to  snuff 

20  up  the  scent  of  what  they  could  not  afford  to  taste: 
they  knew  luxury;  they  knew  beggary;  but  they  never 
knew  comfort.  These  men  were  irreclaimable. 
They  looked  on  a  regular  and  frugal  life  with  the 
same  aversion  which  an  old  gypsy  or  a  Mohawk  hunter 

25  feels  for  a  stationary  abode  and  for  the  restraints  and 
securities  of  civilized  communities.  They  were  as  un- 
tameable,  as  much  wedded  to  their  desolate  freedom, 
as  the  wild  ass.  They  could  no  more  be  broken  in  to 
the  offices  of  social  man  than   the  unicorn  could   be 

30  trained  to  serve  and  abide  by  the  crib.  It  was  well 
if  they  did  not,  like  beasts  of  a  still  fiercer  race,  tear 
the  hands  which  minstered  to  their  necessities.     To 


40  MACAULAY  ON 

assist  them  was  impossible;  and  the  most  benevolent 
of  mankind  at  length  became  weary  of  giving  relief 
which  was  dissipated  with  the  wildest  profusion  as 
soon  as  it  had  been  received.  If  a  sum  was  bestowed 
on  the  wretched  adventurer,  such  as,  properly  hus-  5 
banded,  might  have  supplied  him  for  six  months,  it 
was  instantly  spent  in  strange  freaks  of  sensuality, 
and,  before  forty-eight  hours  had  elapsed,  the  poet 
was  again  pestering  all  his  acquaintance  for  twopence 
to  get  a  plate  of  shin  of  beef  at  a  subterraneous  cook- 10 
shop.  If  his  friends  gave  him  an  asylum  in  their 
houses,  those  houses  were  forthwith  turned  into 
bagnios  and  taverns.  All  order  was  destroyed;  all 
business  was  suspended.  The  most  good-natured 
host  began  to  repent  of  his  eagerness  to  serve  a  man  15 
of  genius  in  distress  when  he  heard  his  guest  roaring 
for  fresh  punch  at  five  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

A  few  eminent  writers  were  more  fortunate.      Pope 
had  been  raised  above  poverty  by  the  active  patronage 
which,   in   his  youth,  both  the  great  political  parties  20 
had  extended  to  his  Homer,     Young  had  received  the 
only  pension  ever  bestowed,  to  the  best  of  our  recol- 
lection, by  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  as  the  reward  of  mere 
literary  merit.     One  or  two  of  the  many  poets   who 
attached  themselves  to   the  opposition,  Thomson   in  25 
particular  and   Mallet,    obtained,   after  much   severe 
suffering,  the  means  of  subsistence  from  their  political 
friends.      Richardson,  like  a  man  of  sense,  kept  his 
shop;   and    his    shop    kept    him,    which    his    novels, 
admirable  as  they  are,  would  scarcely  have  done     But  30 
nothing  could  be  more  deplorable  than  the  state  even 
of  the  ablest  men,  who  at  that  time  depended  for  sub- 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  41 

sistence  on  their  writings.  Johnson,  Collins,  Field- 
ing, and  Thomson,  were  certainly  four  of  the  most 
distinguished  persons  that  England  produced  during 
the  eighteenth  century.     It  is  well  known  that  they 

5   were  all  four  arrested  for  debt. 

Into  calamities  and  difficulties  such  as  these  John- 
son plunged  in  his  twenty-eighth  year.  From  that 
time  till  he  was  three  or  four  and  fifty,  we  have  little 
information    respecting  him;    little,   we  mean,    com- 

10  pared  wdth  the  full  and  accurate  information  which 
we  possess  respecting  his  proceedings  and  habits 
towards  the  close  of  his  life.  He  emerged  at  length 
from  cock-lofts  and  sixpenny  ordinaries  into  the 
society  of   the  polished   and  the   opulent.     His   fame 

15  w^as  established.  A  pension  sufficient  for  his  wants 
had  been  conferred  on  him;  and  he  came  forth  to 
astonish  a  generation  with  which  he  had  almost  as  little 
in  common  as  with  Frenchmen  or  Spaniards. 

In  his  early  years  he  had  occasionally  seen  the  great ; 

20  but  he  had  seen' them  as  a  beggar.  He  now  came 
among  them  as  a  companion.  The  demand  for  amuse- 
ment and  instruction  had,  during  the  course  of  tw^enty 
years,  been  gradually  increasing.  The  price  of 
literary  labor  had  risen  ;   and  those  rising  men  of  letters 

25  with  whom  Johnson  was  henceforth  to  associate  were 
for  the  most  part  persons  widely  different  from  those 
who  had  walked  about  with  him  all  night  in  the  streets 
for  want  of  a  lodging.  Burke,  Robertson,  the  War- 
tons,    Gray,    Mason,    Gibbon,   Adam  Smith,   Beattie, 

30  Sir  William  Jones,  Goldsmith,  and  Churchill,  were 
the  most  distinguished  writers  of  Avhat  may  be  called 
the   second   generation    of   the   Johnsonian   age.     Of 


42  MACAULAY  ON 

these  men  Churchill  was  the  only  one  in  whom  we  can 
trace  the  stronger  lineaments  of  that  character  which, 
when  Johnson  first  came  up  to  London,  was  common 
among  authors.     Of   the  rest,  scarcely  any  had   felt 
the  pressure  of  severe  poverty.     Almost  all  had  been   5 
early  admitted  into  the  most   respectable  society  on 
an  equal  footing.      They  were  men  of  quite  a  differ- 
ent species  from  the  dependents  of  Curll  and  Osborne. 
Johnson  came  among  them  the  solitary  specimen  of 
a  past   age,  the  last  survivor  of  the  genuine  race  of  10 
Grub   Street   hacks;    the   last   of  that   generation   of 
authors  whose  abject  misery  and  whose  dissolute  man- 
ners had  furnished  inexhaustible  matter  to  the  satirical 
genius  of  Pope.     From   nature   he  had   received   an 
uncouth  figure,   a  diseased  constitution,  and  an  irri- 15 
table  temper.   The  manner  in  which  the  earlier  years 
of   his    manhood   had    passed    had    given    to  his  de- 
meanor, and  even  to  his  moral  character,  some  pecu- 
liarities appalling  to  the  civilized  beings  w'ho  were  the 
companions  of  his  old  age.      The  perverse  irregularity  20 
of  his  hours,  the  slovenliness  of  his  person,  his  fits  of 
strenuous  exertion,   interrupted  by   long   intervals  of 
sluggishness,   his  strange   abstinence,  and  his  equally 
strange   voracity,   his  active  benevolence,   contrasted 
with  the  constant  rudeness  and  the  occasional  ferocity  25 
of  his  manners  in  society,  made  him,  in  the  opinion 
of  those  with  wdiom  he   lived  during   the  last   twenty 
years  of  his  life,  a  complete  original.     An  original  he 
was,  undoubtedly,  in  some  respects.     But  if  we  pos- 
sessed full  information  concerning  those  who  shared  30 
his  early  hardships,  we  should  probably  find  that  what 
we  call  his  singularities  of  manner  were,  for  the  most 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  43 

part,  failings  which  he  had  in  common  with  the  class 
to  which  he  belonged.  He  ate  at  Streatham  Park  as 
he  had  used  to  eat  behind  the  screen  at  St.  John's 
Gate,    when    he    was    ashamed    to    show    his    ragged 

5  clothes.  He  ate  as  it  was  natural  that  a  man  should 
eat,  who,  during  a  great  part  of  his  life,  had  passed 
the  morning  in  doubt  whether  he  should  have  food  for 
the  afternoon.  The  habits  of  his  early  life  had  accus- 
tomed him  to  bear  privation  with  fortitude,  but  not 

10  to  taste  pleasure  with  moderation.  He  could  fast; 
but  when  he  did  not  fast,  he  tore  his  dinner  like  a 
famished  wolf,  with  the  veins  swelling  on  his  fore- 
head, and  the  perspiration  running  down  his  cheeks. 
He  scarcely  ever  took  wine ;  but  when   he  drank   it 

15  he  drank  it  greedily  and  in  large  tumblers.  These 
were,  in  fact,  mitigated  symptoms  of  that  same  moral 
disease  which  raged  with  such  deadly  malignity  in 
his  friends  Savage  and  Boyse.  The  roughness  and 
violence    which   he    showed    in    society    were    to    be 

20  expected  from  a  man  whose  temper,  not  naturally 
gentle,  had  been  long  tried  by  the  bitterest  calamities, 
by  the  want  of  meat,  of  fire,  and  of  clothes,  by  the 
importunity  of  creditors,  by  the  insolence  of  book- 
sellers, by  the  derision  of  fools,  by  the  insincerity  of 

25  patrons,  by  that  bread  which  is  the  bitterest  of  all 
food,  by  those  stairs  which  are  the  most  toilsome  of 
all  paths,  by  that  deferred  hope  which  makes  the  heart 
sick.  Through  all  these  things  the  ill-dressed,  coarse, 
ungainly  peda,nl  had  struggled  manfully  up  to  emi- 

3onence  and  command.  It  was  natural  that,  in  the 
exercise  of  his  power,  he  should  be  "eo  immitior, 
quia    toleraverat,"    that,    though    his    heart   was   un- 


44  MACAULA  V  ON' 

doubtedly  generous  and   humane,   his   demeanor   in 
society    should  be  harsh  and   despotic.     For   severe 
distress  he  had   sympathy,  and   not   only   sympathy, 
but  munificent  relief.     But  for  the  suffering  which  a 
harsh  world  inflicts  upon  a  delicate  mind  he  had  no   5 
pity ;   for  it  was  a  kind  of  suffering  which  he  could 
scarcely   conceive.     He    would    carry    home    on    his  - 
shoulders   a   sick  and   starving   girl   from  the   streets. 
He   turned  his   house   into   a   place    of    refuge  for  a 
crowd  of  wretched  old   creatures   who  could  find  no  10 
other    asylum;  nor    could   all    their   peevishness    and 
ingratitude  weary  out  his  benevolence.     But  the  pangs 
of  wounded  vanity  seemed  to  him  ridiculous;  and  he 
scarcely  felt  sufficient  compassion  even  for  the  pangs 
of  wounded  affection.     He  had  seen  and  felt  so  much  15 
of  sharp  misery,  that  he  was  not  affected  by  paltry 
vexations;   and  he  seemed  to  think  that  every  body 
ought  to  be  as  much  hardened  to  those  vexations  as 
himself.     He  was  angry  with  Boswell  for  complaining 
of  a  headache,  with  Ivlrs.  Thrale  for  grumbling  about  20 
the   dust   on   the   road   or  the  smell   of  the   kitchen. 
These  were,  in  his   phrase,    "foppish  lamentations," 
which  people  ought  to  be  ashamed  to  utter  in  a  world 
so  full  of  sin  and  sorrow.     Goldsmith  crying  because 
the  Good-natured  Man  had  failed,  inspired  him  with  25 
no  pity.     Though  his  own  health  was  not  good,  he 
detested    and  despised    valetudinarians.       Pecuniary 
losses,    unless  they  reduced  the  loser  absolutely   to 
beggary,  moved  him  very  little.     People  whose  hearts 
had  been  softened  by  prosperity  might  weep,  he  said,  30 
for  such  events;   but  all  that  could  be  expected  of  a 
plain    man  was   not   to   laugh.     He   was   not   much 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  45 

moved  even  by  the  spectacle  of  Lady  Tavistock  dying 
of  a  broken  heart  for  the  loss  of  her  lord.  Such 
grief  he  considered  as  a  luxury  reserved  for  the  idle 
and  the  wealthy.     A  washerwoman,  left  a  widow  with 

5  nine  small  children,  would  not  have  sobbed  herself  to 
death. 

A  person  who  troubled  himself  so  little  about  small 
or  sentimental  grievances  was  not  likely  to  be  very 
attentive  to  the  feelings  of  others  in  the  ordinary  in- 

lotercourse  of  society.  He  could  not  understand  how 
a  sarcasm  or  a  reprimand  could  make  any  man  really 
unhappy.  "My  dear  doctor,"  said  he  to  Goldsmith, 
"what  harm  does  it  do  to  a  man  to  call  him  Holo- 
fernes?"      "Pooh,   ma'am,"    he  exclaimed    to    Mrs. 

15  Carter,  "who  is  the  worse  for  being  talked  of  un- 
charitably?" Politeness  has  been  well  defined  as 
benevolence  in  small  things.  Johnson  was  impolite, 
not  because  he  wanted  benevolence,  but  because  small 
things  appeared  smaller  to  him  than  to  people  who 

20 had  never  known  what  it  was  to  live  for  fourpence 
halfpenny  a  day. 

The  characteristic  peculiarity  of  his  intellect  was 
the  union  of  great  powers  with  low  prejudices.  If  we 
judge  of  him  by  the  best  parts  of  his  mind,  we  should 

25  place  him  almost  as  high  as  he  was  placed  by  the 
idolatry  of  Boswell;  if  by  the  worst  parts  of  his  mind, 
we  should  place  him  even  below  Boswell  himself. 
Where  he  was  not  under  the  influence  of  some  strange 
scruple  or  some  domineering  passion,  which  prevented 

30 him  from  boldly  and  fairly  investigating  a  subject, 
he  was  a  wary  and  acute  reasoner,  a  little  too  much 
inclined  to  scepticism,  and  a  little  too  fond  of  paradox. 


4^  MACAULAY  ON 

No  man  was  less  likely  to  be  imposed  upon  by  falla- 
cies  in   argument   or   by   exaggerated    statements   of 
fact.     But  if,  while  he  was   beating  down  sophisms 
and  exposing  false  testimony,    some  childish  preju- 
dices, such  as  would  excite  laughter  in  a  well  managed   5 
nursery,  came   across   him,  he   was   smitten    as  if  by 
enchantment.       His  mind  dwindled  away  under  the 
spell   from   gigantic    elevation   to    dwarfish  littleness. 
Those  who  had   lately   been   admiring  its   amplitude 
and  its  force  were    now  as   much    astonished    at    its  10 
strange  narrowness  and  feebleness  as  the  fisherman  in 
the    Arabian    tale,   when    he    saw    the    Genie,    whose 
stature  had  overshadowed    the  whole   sea-coast,   and    . 
whose  might  seemed  equal  to  a  contest  with  armies, 
contract   himself    to     the     dimensions    of    his    small  15 
prison,  and  lie  there  the  helpless  slave   of  the  charm 
of  Solomon. 

Johnson  was  in  the  habit   of   sifting  with   extreme 
severity  the  evidence  for  all  stories  which  were  merely 
odd.     But  when  they  were  not  only  odd  but  miracu- 20 
lous,  his  severity  relaxed.      He  began  to  be  credulous 
precisely    at    the    point    where    the    most    credulous 
people  begin  to  be  sceptical.     It  is  curious  to  observe, 
both  in  his  writings  and  in  his  conversation,  the  con- 
trast   between    the    disdainful    manner    in    which    he  25 
rejects  unauthenticated  anecdotes,    even    when   they 
are  consistent  with  the   general  laws  of  nature,  and 
the  respectful  manner  in  which  he  mentions  the  wildest 
stories  relating  to  the  invisible   world.     A   man  who 
told  him  of  a  water-spout  or  a  meteoric  stone  gener-  30 
ally  had   the  lie  direct   given   him   for  his  pains.     A 
man  who  told  him  of  a  prediction  or  a  dream  wonder- 


BO  SWELL'S  LLFE   OF  JOHNSON.  47 

fully  accomplished  was  sure  of  a  courteous  hearing. 
"Johnson,"  observed  Hogarth,  "like  King  David, 
says  in  his  haste  that  all  men  are  liars."  "His  in- 
credulity,"  says  Mrs.   Thrale,    "amounted  almost  to 

5  disease."  She  tells  us  how  he  browbeat  a  gentleman 
who  gave  him  an  account  of  a  hurricane  in  the  West 
Indies,  and  a  poor  quaker  who  related  some  strange 
circumstance  about  the  red-hot  balls  fired  at  the  siege 
of  Gibraltar.      "It  is  not  so;   it  cannot  be  true.      Don't 

lo  tell  that  story  again.  You  cannot  think  how  poor  a 
figure  you  make  in  telling  it."  He  once  said,  half 
jestingly,  we  suppose,  that  for  six  months  he  refused 
to  credit  the  fact  of  the  earthquake  at  Lisbon,  and 
that  he  still  believed  the  extent  of  the  calamity  to  be 

15  greatly  exaggerated.  Yet  he  related  with  a  grave 
face  how  old  Mr.  Cave  of  St.  John's  Gate  saw  a 
ghost,  and  how  this  ghost  was  something  of  a  shadowy 
being.  He  went  himself  on  a  ghost-hunt  to  Cock 
Lane,  and  was  angry  with  John  Wesley  for  not  follow- 

2oingup  another  scent  of  the  same  kind  with  proper 
spirit  and  perseverance.  He  rejects  the  Celtic  gene- 
alogies and  poems  without  the  least  hesitation;  yet  he 
declares  himself  willing  to  believe  the  stories  of  the 
second  sight.     If  he  had  examined  the  claims  of  the 

25  Highland  seers  with  half  the  severity  with  which  he 

sifted  the  evidence  for  the  genuineness  of   Fingal,  he 

.  would,   we  suspect,   have  come   away  from  Scotland 

with  a  mind   fully   made   up.     In   his   Lives   of   the 

Poets,  we  find   that  he  is  unwilling  to  give  credit  to 

30 the  accounts  of  Lord  Roscommon's  early  proficiency 
in  his  studies;  but  he  tells  with  great  solemnity  an 
absurd  romance  about   some  intelligence  preternatu- 


48  MACAULAY  O.V 

rally  impressed  on  the  mind  of  that  nobleman.  He 
avows  himself  to  be  in  great  doubt  about  the  truth  of 
the  stor}',  and  ends  by  warning  his  readers  not  wholly 
to  slight  such  impressions. 

Many  of  his   sentiments   on   religious   subjects   are   5 
worthy  of  a  liberal  and   enlarged  mind.      He   could 
discern  clearly  enough  the  folly  and  meanness  of  all 
bigotry   except   his    own.      When    he    spoke     of    the 
scruples  of  the  Puritans,  he  spoke  like  a  person  who 
had  really  obtained   an    insight    into  the  divine   phi- 10 
losophy  of  the  New  Testament,  and  who  considered 
Christianity  as  a  noble  scheme  of  government,  tend- 
ing to  promote  the  happiness  and  to  elevate  the  moral 
nature  of  man.     The  horror  which  the  sectaries  felt 
for  cards,   Christmas  ale,  plum-porridge,   mince-pies,  15 
and    dancing   bears    excited    his    contempt.     To    the 
arguments  urged  by  some  very  worthy  people  against 
showy    dress    he    replied    with    admirable    sense    and 
spirit,  "Let  us  not  be  found,  when  our  Master  calls 
us,  stripping  the  lace  off  our  waistcoats,  but  the  spirit  20 
of  contention  from  our  souls  and  tongues.     Alas!   sir, 
a  man  who  cannot  get  to  heaven  in  a  green  coat  will 
not  find  his  way  thither  the  sooner  in  a  grey  one." 
Yet  he  was  himself  under  the  tyranny  of  scruples  as 
unreasonable  as    those  of  Hudibras  or   Ralpho,  and  25 
carried  his  zeal  for  ceremonies  and  for  ecclesiastical 
dignities  to  lengths  altogether  inconsistent  with  reason 
or    with    Christian  charity.      He    has    gravely   noted 
down  in  his  diary  that  he  once  committed  the  sin  of 
drinking   coffee   on   Good    Friday.     In    Scotland    he  30 
thought  it  his   duty  to   pass   several  months  without 
joining  in  public  worship  solely  because  the  ministers 


BOSWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSOi^f.  49 

of  the  kirk  had  not  been  ordained  by  bishops.  His 
mode  of  estimating  the  piety  of  his  neighbors  was 
somewhat  singular.  "Campbell,"  said  he,  "is  a  good 
man,  a  pious  man.     I  am  afraid  he  has  not  been  in 

5  the  inside  of  a  church  for  many  years;  but  he  never 
passes  a  church  without  pulling  off  his  hat:  this 
shows  he  has  good  principles."  Spain  and  Sicily 
must  surely  contain  many  pious  robbers  and  well- 
principled  assassins.     Johnson  could  easily  see  that 

loa  Roundhead  who  named  all  his  children  after  Sol- 
omon's singers,  and  talked  in  the  House  of  Commons 
about  seeking  the  Lord,  might  be  an  unprincipled 
villain,  whose  religious  mummeries  only  aggravated 
his  guilt.      But   a  man  who   took   off   his  hat  when 

15  he  passed  a  church  episcopally  consecrated  must  be 
a  good  man,  a  pious  man,  a  man  of  good  principles. 
Johnson  could  easily  see  that  those  persons  who 
looked  on  a  dance  or  a  laced  waistcoat  as  sinful, 
deemed  most  ignobly  of  the  attributes  of  God  and  of 

20  the  ends  of  revelation.  But  with  what  a  storm  of 
invective  he  would  have  overwhelmed  any  man  who 
had  blamed  him  for  celebrating  the  redemption  of 
mankind  with  sugarless  tea  and  butterless  buns. 

Nobody  spoke  more  contemptuously  of  the  cant  of 

25  patriotism.  Nobody  saw  more  clearly  the  error  of 
those  who  regarded  liberty  not  as  a  means  but  as  an 
end,  and  who  proposed  to  themselves,  as  the  object  of 
their  pursuit,  the  prosperity  of  the  state  as  distinct 
from  the  prosperity  of  the  individuals  who  compose 

30  the  state.  His  calm  and  settled  opinion  seems  to 
have  been  that  forms  of  government  have  little  or  no 
influence  on  the  happiness  of  society.     This  opinion. 


so  MACAULAY  OAT 

erroneous  as  it  is,  ought  at  least  to  have  preserved  him 
from  all  intemperance  on  political  questions.  It  did 
not,  however,  preserve  him  from  the  lowest,  fiercest, 
and  most  absurd  extravagances  of  party  spirit,  from 
rants  which,  in  every  thing  but  the  diction,  resembled  5 
those  of  Squire  Western.  He  was,  as  a  politician, 
half  ice  and  half  fire.  On  the  side  of  his  intellect  he 
was  a  mere  Pococurante,  far  too  apathetic  about 
public  affairs,  far  too  sceptical  as  to  the  good  or  evil 
tendency  of  any  form  of  polity.  His  passions,  on  10 
the  contrary,  w^ere  violent  even  to  slaying  against  all 
w^ho  leaned  to  Whiggish  principles.  The  w^ell-know^n 
lines  which  he  inserted  in  Goldsmith's  Traveller 
express  what  seems  to  have  been  his  deliberate 
judgment:  15 

"  How  small,  of  all  that  human  hearts  endure, 
That  part  which  kings  or  laws  can  cause  or  cure  ! " 

He  had  previously  put  expressions  very  similar  into 
the  mouth  of  Rasselas.  It  is  amusing  to  contrast 
these  passages  with  the  torrents  of  raving  abuse  W'hich  20 
he  poured  forth  against  the  Long  Parliament  and  the 
American  Congress.  In  one  of  the  conversations 
reported  by  Boswell  this  inconsistency  displays  itself 
in  the  most  ludicrous  manner. 

"Sir  Adam  Ferguson,"  says  Boswell,  "suggested  25 
that  luxury  corrupts  a  people  and  destroys  the  spirit 
of  liberty.  Johnson:  Sir,  that  is  all  visionary.  I 
w^ould  not  give  half  a  guinea  to  live  under  one  form  of 
government  rather  than  another.  It  is  of  no  moment 
to  the  happiness  of  an  individual.  Sir,  the  danger  30 
of  the  abuse  of  power  is   nothing  to  a  private  man. 


JBOSWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  5 1 

What  'Frenchman  is  prevented  passing  his  life  as  he 
pleases?"  Sir  Adam:  "But,  sir,  in  the  British  con- 
stitution it  is  surely  of  importance  to  keep  up  a  spirit 
in  the  people,  so  as  to  preserve  a  balance  against  the 

5  crown."  Johnson:  "Sir,  I  perceive  you  are  a  vile 
Whig.  Why  all  this  childish  jealousy  of  the  power  of 
the  crown?     The  crown  has  not  power  enough." 

One  of  the  old  philosophers.  Lord  Bacon  tells  us, 
used  to  say  that  life  and  death  were  just  the  same  to 

10 him.  "Why  then,"  said  an  objector,  "do  you  not 
kill  yourself  ?"  The  philosopher  answered,  "Because 
it  is  just  the  same."  If  the  difference  between  two 
forms  of  government  be  not  worth  half  a  guinea,  it  is 
not  easy  to  see  how  Whiggism  can  be  viler  than  Tory- 

15  ism,  or  how  the  crown  can  have  too  little  power.  If 
the  happiness  of  individuals  is  not  affected  by  political 
abuses,  zeal  for  liberty  is  doubtless  ridiculous.  But 
zeal  for  monarchy  must  be  equally  so.  No  person 
could  have  been    more  quick-sighted    than    Johnson 

20  to  such  a  contradiction  as  this  in  the  logic  of  an 
antagonist. 

The  judgments  which  Johnson  passed  on  books 
were,  in  his  own  time,  regarded  with  superstitious 
veneration,    and,   in  our  time,   are   generally  treated 

25  with  indiscriminate  contempt.  They  are  the  judg- 
ments of  a  strong  but  enslaved  understanding.  The 
mind  of  the  critic  was  hedged  round  by  an  uninter- 
rupted fence  of  prejudices  and  superstitions.  Within 
his  narrow  limits  he  displayed  a  vigor  and  an  activity 

30  which  ought  to  have  enabled  him  to  clear  the  barrier 
that  confined  him. 

How  it  chanced  that  a  man  who  reasoned  on  his 


52  MACAULAY  ON 

premises    so    ably    should    assume    his    premises    so 
foolishly,    is    one    of    the    great   mysteries   of  human 
nature.     The  same  inconsistency  may  be  observed  in 
the   schoolmen  of    the    middle    ages.     Those  Avriters 
show  so  much  acuteness  and  force  of  mind  in  argu-    5 
ing  on  their  wretched  data,  that  a  modern   reader  is 
perpetually  at  a  loss  to  comprehend  how  such  minds 
came  by  such  data.      Not  a  flaw  in  the  superstructure 
of  the  theory   which    they   are   rearing   escapes   their 
vigilance.     Yet  they  are  blind  to  the  obvious  unsound- 10 
ness  of  the  foundation.     It  is  the  same  with  some 
eminent  lawyers.     Their  legal  arguments  are  intellec- 
tual prodigies,  abounding  with  the  happiest  analogies 
and  the  most  refined  distinctions.     The  principles  of 
their  arbitrary  science  being  once  admitted,  the  statute- 15 
book  and  the  reports  being  once  assumed  as  the  foun- 
dations of  reasoning,  these  men  must  be  allowed   to 
be  perfect  masters  of  logic.     But  if  a  question   arises 
as    to   the   postulates   on    which    their    whole   system 
rests,  if  they  are  called  upon  to  vindicate  the  funda-  20 
mental  maxims  of  that  system  which  they  have  passed 
their  lives  in  studying,  these  very  men  often  talk  the 
languages  of  savages  or  of  children.     Those  who  have 
listened  to  a  man  of  this  class  in  his  own  court,  and 
who  have  witnessed  the  skill  with  which  he  analyzes  25 
and  digests  a  vast  mass  of  evidence,  or  reconciles  a 
crowd  of  precedents  which  at  first  sight  seem  contra- 
dictory, scarcely  know  him   again  when  a  few  hours 
later,  they  hear  him  speaking   on   the   other   side   of 
Westminster  Hall  in  his  capacity  of  legislator.     They  30 
can  scarcely  believe  that  the  paltry  quirks  which  are 
faintly  heard  through  a  storm  of  coughing,  and  which 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHN  SO  iV.  53 

do  not  impose  on  the  plainest  country  gentleman,  can 
proceed  from  the  same  sharp  and  vigorous  intellect 
which  had  excited  their  admiration  under  the  same  roof 
and  on  the  same  day. 

5  Johnson  decided  literary  questions  like  a  lawyer,  not 
like  a  legislator.  He  never  examined  foundations 
where  a  point  was  already  ruled.  His  whole  code  of 
criticism  rested  on  pure  assumption,  for  which  he 
sometimes  quoted   a  precedent   or  an   authority,  but 

10  rarely  troubled  himself  to  give  a  reason  drawn  from 
the  nature  of  things.  He  took  it  for  granted  that  the 
kind  of  poetry  which  flourished  in  his  own  time,  which 
he  had  been  accustomed  to  hear  praised  from  his 
childhood,   and   which  he  had  himself    written  with 

15  success,  was  the  best  kind  of  poetry.  In  his  bio- 
graphical work  he  has  repeatedly  laid  it  down  as  an 
undeniable  proposition  that  during  the  latter  part  of 
the  seventeenth  century,  and  the  earlier  part  of  the 
eighteenth,    English  poetry  had   been  in   a  constant 

20  progress  of  improvement.  Waller,  Denham,  Dryden, 
and  Pope  had  been,  according  to  him,  the  great 
reformers.  He  judged  of  all  works  of  the  imagination 
by  the  standard  established  among  his  own  contem- 
poraries.    Though  he  allowed   Homer  to  have  been 

25  a  greater  man  than  Virgil,  he  seems  to  have  thought 
the  ^neid  a  greater  poem  than  the  Iliad.  Indeed  he 
well  might  have  thought  so;  for  he  preferred  Pope's 
Iliad  to  Homer's.  He  pronounced  that,  after  Hoole's 
translation    of    Tasso,     Fairfax's    would    hardly    be 

30  reprinted.  He  could  see  no  merit  in  our  fine  old 
English  ballads,  and  always  spoke  with  the  most  pro- 
voking contempt  of  Percy's  fondness  for  them.     Of 


54  MA  CAUL  AY   OJV 

the  great  original  works  of  imagination  which  appeared 
during  his  time,  Richardson's  novels  alone  excited 
his  admiration.  He  could  see  little  or  no  merit  in 
Tom  Jones,  in  Gulliver's  Travels,  or  in  Tristram 
Shandy.  To  Thomson's  Castle  of  Indolence  he  5 
vouchsafed  only  a  line  of  cold  commendation,  of 
commendation  much  colder  than  what  he  has  bestowed 
on  the  Creation  of  that  portentous  bore,  Sir  Richard 
Blackmore.  Gray  was,  in  his  dialect,  a  barren  rascal. 
Churchill  was  a  blockhead.  The  contempt  which  he  10 
felt  for  the  trash  of  Macpherson  was  indeed  just;  but 
it  was,  we  suspect,  just  by  chance.  He  despised  the 
Fin  gal  for  the  very  reason  which  led  many  men  of 
genius  to  admire  it.  He  despised  it,  not  because  it 
was  essentially  commonplace,  but  because  it  had  a  15 
superficial  air  of  originality. 

He  was  undoubtedly  an  excellent  judge  of  com- 
positions fashioned  on  his  own  principles.  But  when 
a  deeper  philosophy  was  required,  when  he  under- 
took to  pronounce  judgment  on  the  works  of  those  20 
great  minds  which  "yield  homage  only  to  eternal 
laws,"  his  failure  was  ignominious.  He  criticised 
Pope's  Epitaphs  excellently.  But  his  observations 
on  Shakespeare's  plays  and  Milton's  poems  seem  to 
us  for  the  most  part  as  wretched  as  if  they  had  been  25 
written  by  Rymer  himself,  whom  we  take  to  have 
been  the  worst  critic  that  ever  lived. 

Some  of  Johnson's  whims  on  literary  subjects  can 
be   compared    only    to    that   strange   nervous    feeling 
which  made  him  uneasy  if  he  had  not  touched  every  30 
post  between  the  Mitre  tavern  and  his  own  lodgings. 
His  preference  of  Latin  epitaphs  to  English  epitaphs 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHN  SO  I^.  55 

is  an  instance.  An  English  epitaph,  he  said,  would 
disgrace  Smollett.  He  declared  that  he  would  not 
pollute  the  walls  of  Westminster  Abbey  with  an  Eng- 
lish epitaph  on   Goldsmith.     What   reason   there  can 

5  be  for  celebrating  a  British  writer  in  Latin,  which 
there  was  not  for  covering  the  Roman  arches  of  tri- 
umph with  Greek  inscriptions,  or  for  commemorating 
the  deeds  of  the  heroes  of  Thermopylae  in  Egyptian 
hieroglyphics,  we  are  utterly  unable  to  imagine. 

10  On  men  and  manners,  at  least  on  the  men  and  man- 
ners of  a  particular  place  and  a  particular  age,  John- 
son had  certainly  looked  with  a  most  observant  and 
discriminating  eye.  His  remarks  on  the  education 
of  children,  on  marriage,  on  the  economy  of  families, 

15  on  the  rules  of  society,  are  always  striking,  and  gener- 
ally sound.  In  his  writings,  indeed,  the  knowledge 
of  life  which  he  possessed  in  an  eminent  degree  is 
very  imperfectly  exhibited.  Like  those  unfortunate 
chiefs  of  the  middle  ages  who  were  suffocated  by  their 

20  own  chain-mail  and  cloth  of  gold,  his  maxims  perish 
under  that  load  of  words  which  was  designed  for 
their  defence  and  their  ornament.  But  it  is  clear, 
from  the  remains  of  his  conversation,  that  he  had 
more  of  that  homely  wisdom  which  nothing  but  ex- 

25  perience   and   observation   can   give   than   any  writer 

t  since  the  time  of  Swift.     If  he  had  been  content  to 

/  write  as  he  talked,  he  might  have  left  books  on  the 
practical  art  of  living  superior  to  the   Directions  to 

'    Servants. 

30  Yet  even  his  remarks  on  society,  like  his  remarks 
on  literature,  indicate  a  mind  at  least  as  remarkable 
for  narrowness  as  for  strength.     He  was  no  master 


56  MACAULA  V   OAT 

of  the  great  science  of  human  nature.  He  had 
studied,  not  the  genus  man,  but  the  species  Lon- 
doner. Nobody  was  ever  so  thoroughly  conversant 
with  all  the  forms  of  life  and  all  the  shades  of  moral 
and  intellectual  character  which  were  to  be  seen  from  5 
Islington  to  the  Thames,  and  from  Hyde-Park  corner 
to  Mile-end  green.  But  his  philosophy  stopped  at 
the  first  turnpike-gate.  Of  the  rural  life  of  England 
he  knew  nothing;  and  he  took  it  for  granted  that 
every  body  who  lived  in  the  country  was  either  stupid  10 
or  miserable.  "Country  gentlemen,"  said  he,  "must 
be  unhappy;  for  they  have  not  enough  to  keep  their 
lives  in  motion;"  as  if  all  those  peculiar  habits  and 
associations  w^hich  made  Fleet  Street  and  Charing 
Cross  the  finest  views  in  the  world  to  himself  had  15 
been  essential  parts  of  human  nature.  Of  remote 
countries  and  past  times  he  talked  with  wild  and 
ignorant  presumption.  "The  Athenians  of  the  age 
of  Demosthenes,"  he  said  to  Mrs.  Thrale,  "were  a 
people  of  brutes,  a  barbarous  people."  In  conversa- 20 
tion  with  Sir  Adam  Ferguson  he  used  similar  lan- 
guage. "The  boasted  Athenians,"  he  said,  "were 
barbarians.  The  mass  of  every  people  must  be  bar- 
barous where  there  is  no  printing."  The  fact  was 
this:  he  saw  that  a  Londoner  who  could  not  read  was  25 
a  very  stupid  and  brutal  fellow;  he  saw  that  great 
refinement  of  taste  and  activity  of  intellect  were  rarely 
found  in  a  Londoner  who  had  not  read  much;  and, 
because  it  was  by  means  of  books  that  people  acquired 
almost  all  their  knowledge  in  the  society  with  which  30 
he  was  acquainted,  he  concluded,  in  defiance  of  the 
strongest  and  clearest  evidence,  that  the  human  mind 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOILNSON.  57 

can  be  cultivated  by  means  of  books  alone.  An 
Athenian  citizen  might  possess  very  few  volumes; 
and  the  largest  library  to  which  he  had  access  might 
be   much   less  valuable   than   Johnson's   bookcase  in 

5  Bolt  Court.  But  the  Athenian  might  pass  every 
morning  in  conversation  with  Socrates,  and  might 
hear  Pericles  speak  four  or  five  times  every  month. 
He  saw  the  plays  of  Sophocles  and  Aristophanes ;  he 
walked  amidst  the  friezes  of  Phidias  and  the  paintings 

loof  Zeuxis;  he  knew  by  heart  the  choruses  of  ^s- 
chylus;  he  heard  the  rhapsodist  at  the  corner  of  the 
street  reciting  the  shield  of  Achilles  or  the  Death  of 
Argus;  he  was  a  legislator,  conversant  with  high 
questions  of  alliance,   revenue,    and   war;    he  w^as   a 

15  soldier,  trained  under  a  liberal  and  generous  disci- 
pline; he  was  a  judge,  compelled  every  day  to  weigh 
the  effect  of  opposite  arguments.  These  things  were 
in  themselves  an  education,  an  education  eminently 
fitted,  not,  indeed,  to  form  exact  or  profound  thinkers, 

20  but  to  give  quickness  to  the  perceptions,  delicacy  to 
the  taste,  fluency  to  the  expression,  and  politeness  to 
the  manners.  All  this  was  overlooked.  An  Athenian 
who  did  not  improve  his  mind  by  reading  was,  in 
Johnson's  opinion,  much  such  a  person  as  a  Cockney 

25  who  made  his  mark,  much  such  a  person  as  black 
Frank  before  he  went  to  school,  and  far  inferior  to 
a  parish  clerk  or  a  printer's  devil. 

Johnson's  friends  have  allowed  that  he   carried  to 
a   ridiculous    extreme    his    unjust    contempt    for  for- 

3oeigners.  He  pronounced  the  French  to  be  a  very  silly 
people,  much  behind  us,  stupid,  ignorant  creatures. 
And  this  judgment  he  formed  after  having  been   at 


5  8  MA  CAUL  AY  ON 

Paris  about  a  month,  during  which  he  would  not  talk 
French,  for  fear  of  giving  the  natives  an  advantage 
over  him  in  conversation.  He  pronounced  them, 
also,  to  be  an  indelicate  people,  because  a  French 
footman  touched  the  sugar  with  his  fingers.  That  5 
ingenious  and  amusing  traveller,  M.  Simond,  has 
defended  his  countrymen  very  successfully  against 
Johnson's  accusation,  and  has  pointed  out  some 
English  practices  which,  to  an  impartial  spectator, 
would  seem  at  least  as  inconsistent  with  physical  10 
cleanliness  and  social  decorum  as  those  which  John- 
son so  bitterly  reprehended.  To  the  sage,  as  Boswell 
loves  to  call  him,  it  never  occurred  to  doubt  that  there 
must  be  something  eternally  and  immutably  good  in 
the  usages  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed.  In  15 
fact,  Johnson's  remarks  on  society  beyond  the  bills 
of  mortality  are  generally  of  much  the  same  kind  with 
those  of  honest  Tom  Dawson,  the  English  footman  in 
Dr.  Moore's  Zeiuco.  "Suppose  the  king  of  France 
has  no  sons,  but  only  a  daughter,  then,  wdien  the  king  20 
dies,  this  here  daughter,  according  to  that  there  law, 
cannot  be  made  queen,  but  the  next  near  relative, 
provided  he  is  a  man,  is  made  king,  and  not  the  last 
king's  daughter,  which,  to  be  sure,  is  very  unjust. 
The  French  foot-guards  are  dressed  in  blue,  and  all  25 
the  marching  regiments  in  white,  which  has  a  very 
foolish  appearance  for  soldiers;  and  as  for  blue  regi- 
mentals, it  is  only  fit  for  the  blue  horse  or  the 
artillery." 

Johnson's  visit  to  the  Hebrides  introduced  him  to  30 
a  state  of  society  completely  new  to  him;  and  a  salu- 
tary suspicion  of  his  own  deficiencies  seems  on  that 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  59 

occasion  to  have  crossed  his  mind  for  the  first  time. 
He  confessed,  in  the  last  paragraph  of  his  Journey, 
that  his  thoughts  on  national  manners  were  the  thoughts 
of  one  who  had  seen  but  little,  of  one  who  had  passed 

5  his  time  almost  wholly  in  cities.  This  feeling,  how- 
ever, soon  passed  away.  It  is  remarkable  that  to  the 
last  he  entertained  a  fixed  contempt  for  all  those 
modes  of  life  and  those  studies  which  tend  to  eman- 
cipate  the  mind  from  the  prejudices  of  a  particular 

loage  or  a  particular  nation.  Of  foreign  travel  and  of 
history  he  spoke  with  the  fierce  and  boisterous  con- 
tempt of  ignorance.  "What  does  a  man  learn  by 
travelling?  Is  Beauclerk  the  better  for  travelling? 
What  did  Lord  Charlemont  learn  in  his  travels,  except 

15  that  there  was  a  snake  in  one  of  the  Pyramids  of 
Egypt?"  History  was,  in  his  opinion,  to  use  the  fine 
expression  of  Lord  Plunkett,  an  old  almanac;  histor- 
ians could,  as  he  conceived,  claim  no  higher  dignity 
than  that  of  almanac-makers;  and  his  favorite  histori- 

2oans  were  those  who,  like  Lord  Hailes,  aspired  to  no 
higher  dignity.  He  always  spoke  with  contempt  of 
Robertson.  Hume  he  would  not  even  read.  He 
affronted  one  of  his  friends  for  talking  to  him  about 
Catiline's   conspiracy,    and    declared    that   he    never 

25  desired  to  hear  of  the  Punic  war  again  as  long  as  he 
lived. 

Assuredly  one  fact  which  does  not  directly  affect 
our  own  interests,  considered  in  itself,  is  no  better 
worth  knowing  than  another  fact.     The  fact  that  there 

30  is  a  snake  in  a  pyramid,  or  the  fact  that  Hannibal 
crossed  the  Alps,  are  in  themselves  as  unprofitable  to 
us  as  the  fact  that  there  is  a  green  blind  in  a  particu- 


6o  MACAU  LA  V   ON 

lar  house  in  Threadneedle  Street,  or  the  fact  that  a 
Mr.  Smith  comes  into  the  city  every  morning  on  the 
top  of  one  of  the  Blackwall  stages.  But  it  is  certain 
that  those  who  will  not  crack  the  shell  of  history  will 
never  get  at  the  kernel.  Johnson,  with  hasty  arro-  5 
gance,  pronounced  the  kernel  worthless,  because  he 
saw  no  value  in  the  shell.  The  real  use  of  travelling 
to  distant  countries  and  of  studying  the  annals  of  past 
times  is  to  preserve  men  from  the  contraction  of  mind 
which  those  can  hardly  escape  whose  whole  communion  10 
is  with  one  generation  and  one  neighborhood,  who 
arrive  at  conclusions  by  means  of  an  induction  not 
sufficiently  copious,  and  who  therefore  constantly 
confound  exceptions  with  rules,  and  accidents  with 
essential  properties.  In  short,  the  real  use  of  travel- 15 
ling  and  of  studying  history  is  to  keep  men  from  being 
what  Tom  Dawson  was  in  fiction  and  Samuel  John- 
son in  reality. 

Johnson,  as  Mr.  Burke  most  justly  observed,  appears 
far  greater  in  Boswell's  books  than  in  his  own.     His  20 
conversation  appears  to  have  been  quite  equal  to  his 
writings  in  matter,  and  far  superior  to  them  in  manner. 
When  he  talked,  he  clothed  his  wit  and  his  sense  in 
forcible  and  natural  expressions.     As  soon  as  he  took 
his  pen  in  his  hand  to  write  for  the  public,  his  style  25 
became   systematically   vicious.      All    his   books  are 
written  in  a  learned  language,  in   a  language   which 
nobody  hears  from  his  mother  or  his  nurse,  in  a  lan- 
guage in  which  nobody  ever  quarrels,  or  drives  bar- 
gains, or  makes  love,  in  a  language  in  which  nobody  30 
ever  thinks.     It  is  clear  that  Johnson  himself  did  not 
think  in  the  dialect  in  which  he  wrote.     The  expres- 


ii>^' 


BOSVVELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  6i 

sions  which  came  first  to  his  tongue  were  simple, 
energetic,  and  picturesque.  When  he  wrote  for  pub- 
lication, he  did  his  sentences  out  of  English  into 
Johnsonese.     His  letters  from  the  Hebrides  to  Mrs. 

5  Thrale  are  the  original  of  that  work  of  which  the 
Journey  to  the  Hebrides  is  the  translation;  and  it  is 
amusing  to  compare  the  two  versions.  "When  we 
were  taken  upstairs,"  says  he  in  one  of  his  letters,  "a 
dirty  fellow  bounced  out  of  the  bed  on  which  one  of 

10 us  was  to  lie."  This  incident  is  recorded  in  the 
Journey  as  follows :  "Out  of  one  of  the  beds  on  which 
we  were  to  repose  started  up,  at  our  entrance,  a  man 
black  as  a  Cyclops  from  the  forge."  Sometimes 
Johnson    translated    aloud.       "The    Rehearsal,"    he 

15  said,  very  unjustly,  "has  not  wit  enough  to  keep  it 
sweet;"  then,  after  a  pause,  "it  has  not  vitality 
enough  to  preserve  it  from  putrefaction." 

Mannerism  is  pardonable,  and  is  sometimes  even 
agreeable,  when  the  manner,  though  vicious,  is  natural. 

20  Few  readers,  for  example,  would  be  willing  to  part 
with  the  mannerism  of  Milton  or  of  Burke,  But  a 
mannerism  which  does  not  sit  easy  on  the  mannerist, 
which  has  been  adopted  on  principle,  and  which  can 
be  sustained  only  by  constant  effort,  is  always  offen- 

25  sive.     And  such  is  the  mannerism  of  Johnson. 

The  characteristic  faults  of  his  style  are  so  familiar 
to  all  our  readers,  and  have  been  so  often  burlesqued, 
that  it  is  almost  superfluous  to  point  them  out.  It  is 
well  known  that  he  made  less  use  than  any  other  emi- 

3onent  writer  of  those  strong  plain  w^ords,  Anglo-Saxon 
or  Norman-French,  of  which  the  roots  lie  in  the 
inmost  depths  of  our  language;    and  that   he   felt  a 


62  MACAULA  V   ON 

vicious  partiality  for  terms  which  long  after  our  own 
speech  had  been  fixed,  were  borrowed  from  the  Greek 
and  Latin,  and  which,  therefore,  even  when  lawfully- 
naturalized,  must  be  considered  as  born  aliens,  not 
entitled  to  rank  with  the  king's  English.  His  con-  5 
stant  practice  of  padding  out  a  sentence  with  useless 
epithets,  till  it  became  as  stiff  as  the  bust  of  an 
exquisite,  his  antithetical  forms  of  expression,  con- 
stantly employed  even  where  there  is  no  opposition  in 
the  ideas  expressed,  his  big  words  wasted  on  little  10 
things,  his  harsh  inversions,  so  widely  different  from 
those  graceful  and  easy  inversions  which  give  variety, 
spirit,  and  sweetness  to  the  expression  of  our  great  old 
writers,  all  these  peculiarities  have  been  imitated  by 
his  admirers  and  parodied  by  his  assailants,  till  the  15 
public  has  become  sick  of  the  subject. 

Goldsmith  said  to  him,  very  wittily  and  very  justly, 
"If  you  were  to  write  a  fable  about  little  fishes, 
doctor,  you  would  make  the  little  fishes  talk  like 
whales."  No  man  surely  ever  had  so  little  talent  for  20 
personation  as  Johnson.  Whether  he  wrote  in  the 
character  of  a  disappointed  legacy-hunter  or  an  empty 
town  fop,  of  a  crazy  virtuoso  or  a  flippant  coquette, 
he  wrote  in  the  same  pompous  and  unbending  style. 
His  speech,  like  Sir  Piercy  Shafton's  Euphuistic  elo- 25 
quence,  bewrayed  him  under  every  disguise.  Eu- 
phelia  and  Rhodoclea  talk  as  finely  as  Imlac  the  poet, 
or  Seged,  Emperor  of  Ethiopia.  The  gay  Cornelia 
describes  her  reception  at  the  country-house  of  her 
relations  in  such  terms  as  these:  "I  was  surprised,  30 
after  the  civilities  of  my  first  reception,  to  find,  instead 
of  the  leisure  and  tranquillity  which  a  rural  life  always 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  d^ 

promises,  and,  if  well  conducted,  might  always  afford, 
a  confused  wildness  of  care,  and  a  tumultuous  hurry 
of  diligence,  by  which  every  face  was  clouded  and 
every    motion    agitated."       The    gentle    Tranquilla 

5  informs  us  that  she  "had  not  passed  the  earlier  part 
of  life  without  the  flattery  of  courtship  and  the  joys 
of  triumph ;  but  had  danced  the  round  of  gaiety 
amidst  the  murmurs  of  envy  and  the  gratulations  of 
applause,  had  been  attended  from  pleasure  to  pleasure 

loby  the  great,  the  sprightly,  and  the  vain,  and  had  seen 
her  regard  solicited  by  the  obsequiousness  of  gal- 
lantry, the  gaiety  of  wit,  and  the  timidity  of  love." 
Surely  Sir  John  Falstaff  himself  did  not  wear  his 
petticoats  with  a  worse  grace.     The  reader  may  well 

15  cry  out,  with  honest  Sir  Hugh  Evans,  "I  like  not 
when  a  'oman  has  a  great  peard:  I  spy  a  great  peard 
under  her  mufiler. "  ' 

We  had  something  more  to  say.     But  our  article  is 
already  too  long;  and  we  must  close  it.     We  would 

20  fain  part  in-good  humor  from  the  hero,  from  the  bio- 
grapher, and  even  from  the  editor,  who,  ill  as  he  has 
performed  his  task,  has  at  least  this  claim  to  our  grati- 
tude, that  he  has  induced  us  to  read  Boswell's  book 
again.     As  we  close  it  the  club-room  is  before  us,  and 

25  the  table  on  which  stands  the  omelet  for  Nugent  and 
the  lemons  for  Johnson.  There  are  assembled  those 
heads  which  live  forever  on  the  canvass  of  Reynolds. 
There  are  the  spectacles  of  Burke  and  the  tall  thin 
form  of   Langton,  the  courtly  sneer  of  Beauclerk  and 

30  '  It  is  proper  to  observe  that  this  passage  bears  a  very  close 
resemblance  to  a  passage  in  the  "Rambler"  (No.  20).  The 
resemblance  may  possibly  be  the  effect  of  unconscious  plagiarism. 


64  BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON. 

the  beaming  smile  of  Garrick,  Gibbon  tapping  his 
snuff-box  and  Sir  Joshua  with  his  trumpet  in  his  ear. 
In  the  foreground  is  that  strange  figure  which  is  as 
familiar  to  us  as  the  figures  of  those  among  whom  we 
have  been  brought  up,  the  gigantic  body,  the  huge  5 
massy  face,  seamed  with  the  scars  of  disease,  the 
brown  coat,  the  black  worsted  stockings,  the  grey 
wig  with  the  scorched  foretop,  the  dirty  hands,  the 
nails  bitten  and  pared  to  the  quick.  We  see  the 
eyes  and  mouth  moving  with  convulsive  twitches ;  10 
we  see  the  heavy  form  rolling;  we  hear  it  puffing; 
and  then  comes  the  "Why,  sir!"  and  the  "What 
then,  sir?"  and  the  "No,  sir!"  and  the  "You  don't 
see  your  way  through  the  question,  sir!" 

What    a    singular    destiny    has  been    that    of    this  15 
remarkable  man !      To  be  regarded  in  his  own  age  as 
a  classic,  and  in  ours  as  a  companion !      To   receive 
from  his  contemporaries  that  full  homage  which  men 
of  genius  have  in  general  received  only  from  posterity! 
To  be  more  intimately  known  to  posterity  than  other  20 
men  are  known  to  their  contemporaries!     That  kind 
of  fame  which  is  commonly  the  most  transient  is,  in 
his  case,  the  most  durable.     The  reputation  of  those 
writings,  which  he  probably  expected  to  be  immortal, 
is    every    day    fading;     while    those    peculiarities    of 25 
manner  and  that  careless  table-talk,  the  memory   of 
which  he  probably  thought  would  die  with  him,  are 
likely  to  be  remembered  as  long  as  the  English  lan- 
guage is  spoken  in  any  quarter  of  the  globe. 


BOSWELL'S   LIFE  OF  JOHNSON.* 

^sop's  Fly,  sitting  on  the  axle  of  the  chariot,  has 
been  much  laughed  at  for  exclaiming:  What  a  dust  I 
do  raise!  Yet  which  of  us,  in  his  way,  has  not  some- 
times been   guilty  of  the  like?     Nay,  so  foolish  are 

5  men,  they  often,  standing  at  ease  and  as  spectators  on 
the  highway,  will  volunteer  to  exclaim  of  the  Fly  (not 
being  tempted  to  it,  as  he  was)  exactly  to  the  same 
purport:  What  a  dust  thou  dost  raise!  Smallest  of 
mortals,  when  mounted  aloft  by  circumstances,  come 

lo  to  seem  great ;  smallest  of  phenomena  connected  with 
them  are  treated  as  important,  and  must  be  sedulously 
scanned,  and  commented  upon  with  loud  emphasis. 

That  Mr.  Croker  should  undertake  to  edit  BoswelVs 
Life  of  Johnson  was  a  praiseworthy  but  no  miraculous 

15  procedure:  neither  could  the  accomplishment  of  such 
undertaking  be,  in  an  epoch  like  ours,  anywise  regarded 
as  an  event  in  Universal  History;  the  right  or  the 
wrong  accomplishment  thereof  was,  in  very  truth,  one 
of  the  most  insignificant  of  things.     However,  it  sat 

20  in  a  great  environment,  on  the  axle  of  a  high,  fast- 
rolling,  parliamentary  chariot;  and  all  the  world  has 
exclaimed  over  it,  and  the  author  of  it :   What  a  dust 

*  The  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson,  LI..D.:  including  a  Tour  to 
the  Hebrides :    By  James  Bosvvell,  Esq. — A  new  Edition,  with 
25  numerous  Additions  and  Notes  :  by  John  Wilson  Croker,  LL.D., 
F.R.S.     5  vols.     London,  1831. 

65 


66  CARLYLE   ON 

thou  dost  raise!  List  to  the  Reviews,  and  "Organs  of 
Public  Opinion,"  from  the  National  Omnibus  upwards: 
criticisms,  vituperative  and  laudatory,  stream  from 
their  thousand  throats  of  brass  and  of  leather;  here 
chanting  lo  Pceans ;  there  grating  harsh  thunder  or  5 
vehement  shrew-mouse  squeaklets;  till  the  general  ear 
is  filled,  and  nigh  deafened.  Boswell's  Book  had  a 
noiseless  birth,  compared  with  this  Edition  of  Bos- 
well's Book.  On  the  other  hand,  consider  with  what 
degree  of  tumult  Paradise  Lost  and  the  Iliad  were  10 
ushered  in! 

To  swell  such  clamor,  or  prolong  it  beyond  the  time, 
seems  nowise  our  vocation  here.  At  most,  perhaps, 
we  are  bound  to  inform  simple  readers,  with  all  pos- 
sible brevity,  what  manner  of  performance  and  Edition  15 
this  is;  especially,  whether,  in  our  poor  judgment,  it 
is  worth  laying  out  three  pounds  sterling  upon,  yea  or 
not.  The  whole  business  belongs  distinctly  to  the 
lower  ranks  of  the  trivial  class. 

Let  us  admit,  then,    with  great  readiness,   that  as  20 
Johnson  once  said,  and  the  Editor  repeats,  "all  works 
which    describe   manners    require    notes  in   sixty    or 
seventy  years,  or  less;"   that,  accordingly,  a  new  Edi- 
tion of  Boswell  was  desirable;    and  that  Mr.  Croker 
has  given  one.      For  this  task  he  had   various  quali-  25 
fications:   his  own  voluntary  resolution  to  do  it;   his. 
high  place  in  society,  unlocking  all  manner  of  archives 
to  him ;   not  less,  perhaps,  a  certain   anecdotico-bio- 
graphic  turn  of  mind,  natural  or  acquired;  we  mean 
a  love  for  the  minuter  events  of   History,  and  talent  30 
for   investigating  these.      Let   us  admit,  too,  that  he 
has  been  very  diligent;  seems  to  have  made  inquiries 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHN  SOX.  67 

perseveringly,  far  and  near;  as  well  as  drawn  freely 
from  his  own  ample  stores ;  and  so  tells  us,  to  appear- 
ance quite  accurately,  much  that  he  has  not  found 
lying  on  the  highways,  but  has  had  to  seek  and  dig 

5  for.  Numerous  persons,  chiefly  of  quality,  rise  to 
view  in  these  Notes ;  when  and  also  where  they  came 
into  this  world,  received  office  or  promotion,  died 
and  were  buried  (only  what  they  did^  except  digest, 
remaining  often  too  mysterious), — is  faithfully  enough 

10  set  down.  Whereby  all  that  their  various  and  doubt- 
less widely-scattered  Tombstones  could  have  taught 
us,  is  here  presented,  at  once  in  a  bound  Book.  Thus 
is  an  indubitable  conquest,  though  a  small  one,  gained 
over  our  great  enemy,  the  all-destroyer  Time,  and  as 

15  such  shall  have  welcome. 

Nay,  let  us  say  that  the  spirit  of  Diligence,  exhib- 
ited in  this  department,  seems  to  attend  the  Editor 
honestly  throughout;  he  keeps  every  where  a  watchful 
outlook  on  his  Text;   reconciling  the  distant  with  the 

20  present,  or  at  least  indicating  and  regretting  their 
irreconcilability;  elucidating,  smoothing  down;  in  all 
ways  exercising,  according  to  ability,  a  strict  edi- 
torial superintendence.  Any  little  Latin  or  even 
Greek  phrase  is  rendered  into  English,  in  general  with 

25  perfect  accuracy;  citations  are  verified,  or  else  cor- 
rected. On  all  hands,  moreover,  there  is  a  certain 
spirit  of  Decency  maintained  and  insisted  on :  if  not 
good  morals,  yet  good  manners  are  rigidly  incul- 
cated; if  not  Religion,  and  a  devout  Christian  heart, 

30  yet  Orthodoxy,  and  a  cleanly  Shovel-hatted  look, — 
which,  as  compared  with  flat  Nothing,  is  something 
very  considerable.     Grant,   too,    as  no    contemptible 


68  CARLYLE   ON 

triumph  of  this  latter  spirit,  that  though  the  Editor  is 
known  as  a  decided  Politician  and  Party-man,  he  has 
carefully  subdued  all  temptations  to  trangress  in  that 
way:  except  by  quite  involuntary  indications,  and 
rather  as  it  were  the  pervading  temper  of  the  whole,  5 
you  could  not  discover  on  which  side  of  the  Political 
Warfare  he  is  enlisted  and  fights.  This,  as  we  said, 
is  a  great  triumph  of  the  Decency-principle:  for  this, 
and  for  these  other  graces  and  performances,  let  the 
Editor  have  all  praise.  10 

Herewith,  however,  must  the  praise  unfortunately 
terminate.  Diligence,  Fidelity,  Decency,  are  good 
and  indispensable:  yet,  without  Faculty,  without 
Light,  they  will  not  do  the  work.  Along  with  that 
Tombstone-information,  perhaps  even  without  much  15 
of  it,  we  could  have  liked  to  gain  some  answer,  in  one 
way  or  other,  to  this  wide  question:  What  and  how 
was  English  Life  in  Johnson's  time;  wherein  has  ours 
grown  to  differ  therefrom?  In  other  words:  What 
things  have  we  to  forget,  what  to  fancy  and  remem-  20 
ber,  before  we,  from  such  distance,  can  put  ourselves 
in  Johnson's /A? r^y  and  so,  in  the  full  sense  of  the 
term,  understand  him,  his  sayings  and  his  doings? 
This  was  indeed  specially  the  problem  which  a  Com- 
mentator and  Editor  had  to  solve:  a  complete  solu- 25 
tion  of  it  should  have  lain  in  him,  his  whole  mind 
should  have  been  filled  and  prepared  with  perfect 
insight  into  it;  then,  whether  in  the  way  of  express 
Dissertation,  of  incidental  Exposition  and  Indication, 
opportunities  enough  would  have  occurred  of  bring-  30 
ing  out  the  same:  what  was  dark  in  the  figure  of  the 
Past  had  thereby  been  enlightened ;   Boswell  had,  not 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  69 

in  show  and  word  only,  but  in  very  fact  been  made 
new  again,  readable  to  us  who  are  divided  from  him, 
even  as  he  was  to  those  close  at  hand.  Of  all  which 
very  little  has  been   attempted  here;    accomplished, 

5   we  should  say,  next  to  nothing,  or  altogether  nothing. 
Excuse,   no  doubt,  is  in   readiness  for  such  omis- 
sion; and,  indeed,  for  innumerable  other  failings; — 
as  where,  for  example,  the  Editor  will  punctually  ex- 
plain what  is  already  sun-clear;   and  then  anon,  not 

10  without  frankness,  declare  frequently  enough  that 
"the  Editor  does  not  understand,"  that  "the  Editor 
cannot  guess," — while,  for  most  part,  the  Reader 
cannot  help  both  guessing  and  seeing.  Thus,  if  John- 
son say,  in  one  sentence,  that  "English  names  should 

15  not  be  used  in  Latin  verses;"  and  then,  in  the  next 
sentence,  speak  blamingly  of  "Carteret  being  used  as 
a  dactyl,"  will  the  generality  of  mortals  detect  any 
puzzle  there?  Or  again,  where  poor  Boswell  writes, 
"I   always   remember   a  remark   made   to   me  by  a 

20  Turkish  lady,  educated  in  France:  ' Ma  foi,  monsieur^ 
notre  bonheur  depend  de  la  fago7i  que  notre  sang  cir- 
cule  ;'  " — though  the  Turkish  lady  here  speaks  Eng- 
lish-French, where  is  the  call  for  a  Note  like  this: 
"Mr.  Boswell  no  doubt  fancied  these  words  had  some 

25  meaning,  or  he  would  hardly  have  quoted  them;  but 
what  that  meaning  is  the  Editor  cannot  guess"?  The 
Editor  is  clearly  no  witch  at  a  riddle. — For  these  and 
all  kindred  deficiencies  the  excuse,  as  we  said,  is  at 
hand ;  but  the  fact  of  their  existence  is  not  the  less 

30  certain  and  regrettable. 

Indeed,  it,  from  a  very  early  stage  of  the  business, 
becomes  afflictively  apparent,  how  much  the  Editor, 


7°  CARLYLE   ON 

so  well  furnished  with  all  external  appliances  and 
means,  is  from  within  unfurnished  with  means  for 
forming  to  himself  any  just  notion  of  Johnson  or  of 
Johnson's  Life;  and  therefore  of  speaking  on  that 
subject  with  much  hope  of  edifying.  Too  lightly  is  it  5 
from  the  first  taken  for  granted  that  Hunger^  the 
great  basis  of  our  life,  is  also  its  apex  and  ultimate 
perfection;  that  as  "Neediness  and  Greediness  and 
Vainglory"  are  the  chief  qualities  of  most  men,  so  no 
man,  not  even  a  Johnson,  acts  or  can  think  of  acting  10 
on  any  other  principle.  Whatsoever,  therefore,  can- 
not be  referred  to  the  two  former  categories  (Need 
and  Greed),  is  without  scruple  ranged  under  the  latter. 
It  is  here  properly  that  our  Editor  becomes  burden- 
some, and,  to  the  weaker  sort,  even  a  nuisance.  15 
"What  good  is  it,"  will  such  cry,  "when  we  had  still 
some  faint  shadow  of  belief  that  man  was  better  than 
a  selfish  Digesting-machine,  what  good  is  it  to  poke 
in,  at  every  turn,  and  explain  how  this  and  that, 
which  we  thought  noble  in  old  Samuel,  was  vulgar,  20 
base;  that  for  him,  too,  there  was  no  reality  but  in 
the  Stomach ;  and  except  Pudding,  and  the  finer 
species  of  pudding  which  is  named  Praise,  life  had  no 
pabulum?  Why,  for  instance,  when  we  know  that 
Johnson  lovedMx'^  good  Wife,  and  says  expressly  that 25 
their  marriage  was  'a  love-match  on  both  sides,' — 
should  two  closed  lips  open  to  tell  us  only  this:  *Is 
it  not  possible  that  the  obvious  advantage  of  having  a 
woman  of  experience  to  superintend  an  establishment 
of  this  kind  (the  Edial  school)  may  have  contributed  30 
to  a  match  so  disproportionate  in  point  of  age? — 
Ed.?'     Or  again  when,  in  the  Text,  the  honest  cynic 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  71 

speaks  freely  of  his  former  poverty,  and  it  is  known 
that  he  once  lived  on  fourpence  halfpenny  a-day, — 
need  a  Commentator  advance,  and  comment  thus: 
'When  we  find  Dr.  Johnson  tell  unpleasant  truths  to, 

5  or  of,  other  men,  let  us  recollect  that  he  does  not 
appear  to  have  spared  himself,  on  occasions  in  which 
he  might  be  forgiven  for  doing  so?'  Why,  in  short," 
continues  the  exasperated  Reader,  "should  Notes  of 
this   species   stand  affronting  me,   when   there   might 

10  have  been  no  Note  at  all?" — Gentle  Reader,  we 
answer.  Be  not  wroth.  What  other  could  an  honest 
Commentator  do,  than  give  thee  the  best  he  had? 
Such  was  the  picture  and  theorem  he  had  fashioned 
for  himself  of  the  world  and  of  man's  doings  therein: 

15  take  it,  and  draw  wise  inferences  from  it.  If  there 
did  exist  a  Leader  of  Public  Opinion,  and  Champion 
of  Orthodoxy  in  the  Church  of  Jesus  of  Nazareth, 
who  reckoned  that  man's  glory  consisted  in  not  being 
poor;   and  that  a  Sage,  and  Prophet  of  his  time,  must 

20  needs  blush  because  the  world  had  paid  him  at  that 
easy  rate  of  fourpence  halfpenny  pe)'  diein^ — was  not 
the  fact  of  such  existence  worth  knowing,  worth  con- 
sidering? 

Of  a  much  milder  hue,  yet  to  us  practically  of  an 

25  all-defacing,  and  for  the  present  enterprise  quite 
ruinous  character, — is  another  grand  fundamental 
failing;  the  last  we  shall  feel  ourselves  obliged  to  take 
the  pain  of  specifying  here.  It  is,  that  our  Editor 
has    fatally,    and    almost    surprisingly,    mistaken   the 

30  limits  of  an  Editor's  function;  and  so,  instead  of 
working  on  the  margin  with  his  Pen,  to  elucidate  as 
best  might  be,  strikes  boldly  into  the  body  of  the 


72  CARLYLE   ON 

page  with  his  Scissors,  and  there  clips  at  discretion! 
Four  Books  Mr.  C.  had  by  him,  wherefrom  to  gather 
light  for  the  fifth,  which  was  Boswell's.  What  does 
he  do  but  now,  in  the  placidest  manner, — slit  the 
whole  five  into  slips,  and  sew  these  together  into  a  5 
sextum  quid^  exactly  at  his  own  convenience,  giving 
Boswell  the  credit  of  the  whole!  By  what  art-magic, 
our  readers  ask,  has  he  united  them?  By  the  simplest 
of  all :  by  Brackets.  Never  before  was  the  full  virtue 
of  the  Bracket  made  manifest.  You  begin  a  sentence  10 
under  Boswell's  guidance,  thinking  to  be  carried 
happily  through  it  by  the  same:  but  no;  in  the 
middle,  perhaps  after  your  semicolon,  and  some  con- 
sequent "for," — starts  up  one  of  these  Bracket-liga- 
tures, and  stitches  you  in  from  half  a  page  to  twenty  15 
or  thirty  pages  of  a  Hawkins,  Tyers,  Murphy,  Piozzi; 
so  that  often  one  must  make  the  old  sad  reflection, 
"where  we  are,  we  know;  whither  we  are  going,  no 
man  knoweth!"  It  is  truly  said  also,  "There  is 
much  between  the  cup  and  the  lip;"  but  here  the  20 
case  is  still  sadder:  for  not  till  after  consideration 
can  you  ascertain,  now  when  the  cup  is  at  the  lip, 
what  liquor  is  it  you  are  imbibing;  whether  Boswell's 
French  wine  which  you  began  with,  or  some  of 
Piozzi's  ginger-beer,  or  Hawkins's  entire,  or  perhaps  25 
some  other  great  Brewer's  penny-swipes  or  even  ale- 
gar, which  has  been  surreptitiously  substituted  in- 
stead thereof.  A  situation  almost  original;  not  to 
be  tried  a  second  time!  But,  in  fine,  what  ideas  Mr. 
Croker  entertains  of  a  literary  whole  and  the  thing  30 
called  Book^  and  how  the  very  Printer's  Devils 
did  not  rise  in    mutiny  against    such  a   conglomera- 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHXSOJSf.  73 

tion  as  this,   and  refuse  to  print    it, — may  remain  a 
problem. 

But  now  happily   our  say  is  said.     All   faults,  the 
Moralists  tell  us,   are   properly  shortcomings  j  crimes 

5  themselves  are  nothing  other  than  a  not  doing  enough  j 
difightifig^  but  with  defective  vigor.  How  much  more 
a  mere  insufficiency,  and  this  after  good  efforts,  in 
handicraft  practice!  Mr.  Croker  says:  "The  worst 
that  can  happen  is  that   all  the   present  Editor  has 

lo  contributed  may,  if  the  reader  so  pleases,  be  rejected 
as  surplusage."  It  is  our  pleasant  duty  to  take  with 
hearty  welcome  what  he  has  given ;  and  render  thanks 
even  for  what  he  meant  to  give.  Next,  and  finally, 
it   is   our  painful   duty  to  declare,  aloud   if  that  be 

15  necessary,  that  his  gift,  as  weighed  against  the  hard 
money  which  the  Booksellers  demand  for  giving  it 
you,  is  (in  our  judgment)  very  greatly  the  lighter. 
No  portion,  accordingly,  of  our  small  floating  capital 
has  been  embarked  in  the  business,  or  shall  ever  be; 

20  indeed,  were  we  in  the  market  for  such  a  thing,  there 
is  simply  no  Edition  of  Bosivell  to  which  this  last  would 
seem  preferable.  And  now  enough,  and  more  than 
enough ! 

25  We  have  next  a  word  to  say  of  James  Boswell. 
Boswell  has  already  been  much  commented  upon; 
but  rather  in  the  way  of  censure  and  vituperation,  than 
of  true  recognition.  He  was  a  man  that  brought 
himself   much  before   the  world;   confessed   that   he 

30  eagerly  coveted  fame,  or  if  that  were  not  possible, 
notoriety ;  of  which  latter  as  he  gained  far  more  than 
seemed  his  due,  the  public  were  incited,  not  only  by 


74  CARLYLE    ON 

their  natural  love  of  scandal,  but  by  a  special  ground 
of  envy,  to   say   whatever  ill  of  him  could  be   said. 
Out  of  the  fifteen  millions  that  then  lived,  and  had 
bed  and  board,  in  the  British  Islands,  this  man  has 
provided  us  a  greater  pleasure  than  any  other  indi-   5 
vidual,  at  whose  cost  we  now  enjoy  ourselves;  per- 
haps has  done  us  a  greater  service  than  can  be  specially 
attributed  to  more  than  two  or  three:  yet,  ungrateful 
that  we  are,  no  written  or  spoken  eulogy  of  James 
Boswell  any  where   exists ;   his   recompense  in    solid  10 
pudding  (so  far  as  copyright  went)  was  not  excessive; 
and  as  for  the  empty  praise,  it  has  altogether  been 
denied  him.     Men  are  unwiser  than  children;  they  do 
not  know  the  hand  that  feeds  them. 
U^"  Boswell  was  a  person  whose  mean  or  bad  qualities  15 
lay  open  to  the  general  eye ;  visible,  palpable  to  the 
dullest.     His  good  qualities,  again,  belonged  not  to 
the  Time  he  lived  in ;   were  far  from  common  then ; 
indeed,  in  such  a  degree,  were  almost   unexampled; 
not  recognizable   therefore   by   every   one;   nay,    apt 20 
even  (so  strange  had  they  grown)  to  be  confounded 
with  the  very  vices  they  lay  contiguous  to  and  had 
sprung  out  of.     That  he  was  a  wine-bibber  and  gross 
liver;  gluttonously  fond  of  whatever  would  yield  him 
a  little  solacement,  were  it  only  of  a  stomachic  char-  25 
acter,    is    undeniable    enough.       That    he   was   vain, 
heedless,    a   babbler;    had    much   of   the   sycophant, 
alternating  with  the  braggadocio,  curiously  spiced  too 
with  an  all-pervading  dash  of  the  coxcomb ;   that  he 
gloried  much  when  the   Tailor,  by  a  court-suit,  had  30 
made  a  new  man  of   him ;   that   he   appeared   at   the 
Shakspeare  Jubilee  with  a   riband,  imprinted  "Cor- 


BOSWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  75 

SIC  A  BoswELL,"  round  his  hat;  and  in  short,  if  you 
will,  lived  no  day  of  his  life  without  doing  and  say- 
ing more  than  one  pretentious  ineptitude:  all  this 
unhappily  is  evident  as  the  sun  at  noon.     The  very 

5  look  of  Boswell  seems  to  have  signified  so  much.  In 
that  cocked  nose,  cocked  partly  in  triumph  over  his 
weaker  fellow-creatures,  partly  to  snuff  up  the  smell 
of  coming  pleasure,  and  scent  it  from  afar;  in  those 
bag-cheeks,   hanging   like  half-filled  wine-skins,    still 

loable  to  contain  more;  in  that  coarsely  protruded 
shelf-mouth,  that  fat  dewlapped  chin:  in  all  this,  who 
sees  not  sensuality,  pretension,  boisterous  imbecility 
enough ;  much  that  could  not  have  been  ornamental 
in  the  temper  of  a  great   man's   overfed   great  man 

15  (what  the  Scotch  name  flunky)^  though  it  had  been 
more  natural  there?  The  under  part  of  Boswell's 
face  is  of  a  low,  almost  brutish  character. 

Unfortunately,  on  the  other  hand,  what   great  and 
genuine  good  lay  in  him  was  nowise   so  self-evident. 

20  That  Boswell  was  a  hunter  after  spiritual  Notabilities, 
that  he  loved  such,  and  longed,  and  even  crept  and 
crawled  to  be  near  them;  that  he  first  (in  old  Touch- 
wood Auchinleck's  phraseology)  "took  on  with 
Paoli;"  and  then  being  off  with  "the  Corsican  land- 

25louper,"  took  on  with  a  schoolmaster,  "ane  that 
keeped  a  schule,  and  ca'd  it  an  academy:"  that  he 
did  all  this,  and  could  not  help  doing  it,  we  account 
a  very  singular  merit.  The  man,  once  for  all,  had 
an  "open  sense,"  an  open  loving  heart,  which  so  few 

30 have:  where  Excellence  existed,  he  was  compelled  to 
acknowledge  it;  was  drawn  towards  it,  and  (let  the 
old  sulphur-brand  of  a  Laird  say  what  he  liked)  could 


76  CARLYLE   O.V 

not  but  walk  with  it, — if  not  as  superior,  if  not  as 
equal,  then  as  inferior  and  lackey,  better  so  than  not 
at  all.     If  we  reflect  now  that  this  love  of  Excellence 
had  not  only  such  an  evil  natu?-e  to  triumph  over;   but 
also  what  an  education  and  social  position  withstood  it   5 
and   weighed  it  down,  its   innate   strength,  victorious 
over   all    these    things,    may    astonish    us.     Consider 
what  an  inward  impulse  there  must  have  been,  how 
many  mountains  of  impediment  hurled  aside,  before 
the  Scottish  Laird  could,  as  humble  servant,  embrace  10 
the  knees  (the  bosom   was  not  permitted  him)  of  the 
English  Dominie!      "Your  Scottish  Laird,"  says   an 
English  naturalist  of  these  days,  "may  be  defined  as 
the  hungriest  and  vainest  of  all  bipeds  yet  known." 
Boswell  too  was  a  Tory;   of  quite   peculiarly  feudal,  15 
genealogical,  pragmatical  temper;   had  been  nurtured 
in  an  atmosphere  of  Heraldry,  at  the  feet  of  a  very 
Gamaliel  in   that  kind ;  within  bare  walls,    adorned 
only  with  pedigrees,  amid  serving-men  in  threadbare 
livery ;  all  things  teaching  him,  from  birth  up\vards,  20 
to  remember  that  a  Laird  was  a  Laird.     Perhaps  there 
was  a  special  vanity  in  his  very  blood  :   old  Auchinleck 
had,  if  not  the  gay,  tail-spreading,  peacock  vanity  of 
his   son,    no  little   of  the  slow-stalking,   contentious, 
hissing  vanity  of  the  gander;   a  still  more  fatal  species.  25 
Scottish  Advocates  will  yet  tell  you  how  the   ancient 
man,  having  chanced  to  be  the  first  sheriff  appointed 
(after  the  abolition  of  "hereditary  jurisdictions")   by 
royal  authority,  was   wont,  in  dull   pompous   tone,  to 
preface  many  a  deliverance  from  the  bench  with  these  30 
words:    "I,  the  first  King's  Sheriff  in  Scotland." 
And  now  behold  the  worthy  Bozzy,  so  prepossessed 


BOSWELVS  LIFE    OF  JOHN  SOX.  77 

and  held  back  by  nature  and  by  art,  fly  nevertheless 
like  iron  to  its  magnet,  whither  his  better  genius 
called!  You  may  surround  the  iron  and  the  magnet 
with  what  enclosures  and  encumbrances  you  please, — 

5  with  wood,  with  rubbish,  with  brass:  it  matters  not, 
the  two  feel  each  other,  they  struggle  restlessly  towards 
each  other,  they  will  be  together.  The  iron  may 
be  a  Scottish  squirelet,  full  of  gulosity  and  "gig- 
manity; "*    the    magnet    an    English    plebeian,     and 

10  moving  rag-and-dust  mountain,  coarse,  proud,  iras- 
cible, imperious:  nevertheless,  behold  how  they 
embrace,  and  inseparably  cleave  to  one  another!  It 
is  one  of  the  strangest  phenomena  of  the  past  century, 
that  at  a  time  when  the  old  reverent  feeling  of  disci- 

15  pleship  (such  as  brought  men  from  far  countries,  with 
rich  gifts,  and  prostrate  soul,  to  the  feet  of  the 
Prophets)  had  passed  utterly  away  from  men's  practi- 
cal experience,  and  was  no  longer  surmised  to  exist 
(as  it  does),  perennial,  indestructible,  in  man's  inmost 

20  heart, — James  Boswell  should  have  been  the  indi- 
vidual, of  all  others,  predestined  to  recall  it,  in  such 
singular  guise,  to  the  wondering,  and  for  a  long  while, 
laughing  and  unrecognizing  world. 

It  has  been  commonly  said,  The  man's  vulgar  vanity 

25  was  all  that  attached  him  to  Johnson;  he  delighted  to  be 
seen  near  him,  to  be  thought  connected  with  him.  Now 
let  it  be  at  once  granted  that  no  consideration  spring- 
ing out  of  vulgar  vanity  could  well  be  absent  from  the 

*  "  ^.  What  do  you  mean  by  '  respectable?' — A.   He  always 
30  kept  a  gig."     {Thiirtell's    Ti'ial.) — "Thus,"   it    has   been  said, 
"  does  society  naturally  divide  itself  into  four  classes  :  Noblemen, 
Gentlemen,  Gigmen,  and  Men." 


78  CARLVLE   ON- 

mind  of  James  Boswell,  in  this  his  intercourse  with 
Johnson,  or  in  any  considerable  transaction  of  his  life. 
At  the  same  time,  ask  yourself:  Whether  such  vanity, 
and  nothing  else,  actuated  him  therein;  whether  this 
was  the  true  essence  and  moving  principle  of  the  phe-  5 
nomenon,  or  not  rather  its  outward  vesture,  and  the 
accidental  environment  (and  defacement)  in  which  it 
came  to  light?  The  man  was,  by  nature  and  habit, 
vain;  a  sycophant-coxcomb,  be  it  granted:  but  had 
there  been  nothing  more  than  vanity  in  him,  was  10 
Samuel  Johnson  the  man  of  men  to  w^hom  he  must 
attach  himself?  At  the  date  when  Johnson  was  a 
poor  rusty-coated  "scholar,"  dwelling  in  Temple-lane, 
and  indeed  throughout  their  whole  intercourse  after- 
wards, were  there  not  chancellors  and  prime  ministers  15 
enough;  graceful  gentlemen,  the  glass  of  fashion; 
honor-giving  noblemen;  dinner-giving  rich  men; 
renowned  fire-eaters,  swordsmen,  gownsmen ;  Quacks 
and  Realities  of  all  hues, — any  one  of  whom  bulked 
much  larger  in  the  world's  eye  than  Johnson  ever  did?  20 
To  any  one  of  whom,  by  half  that  submissiveness 
and  assiduity,  our  Bozzy  might  have  recommended 
himself;  and  sat  there,  the  envy  of  surrounding  lick- 
spittles; pocketing  now  solid  emolument,  swallowing 
now  well-cooked  viands  and  wines  of  rich  vintage;  25 
in  each  case,  also,  shone  on  by  some  glittering  reflex 
of  Renown  or  Notoriety,  so  as  to  be  the  observed  of 
innumerable  observers.  To  no  one  of  whom,  how- 
ever, though  otherwise  a  most  diligent  solicitor  and 
purveyor,  did  he  so  attach  himself:  such  vulgar  cour-30 
tierships  were  his  paid  drudgery,  or  leisure-amuse- 
ment;  the  worship  of  Johnson  was  his  grand,  ideal. 


BOSVVELVS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  79 

voluntary  business.  Does  not  the  frothy-hearted 
yet  enthusiastic  man,  doffing  his  Advocate's-wig, 
regularly  take  post,  and  hurry  up  to  London,  for  the 
sake  of  his  Sage  chiefly ;   as  to  a  Feast  of  Tabernacles, 

5    the  Sabbath  of  his  whole  year?     The  plate-licker  and 
wine-bibber   dives    into    Bolt    Court,    to    sip    muddy  i 
coffee  with  a  cynical  old  man   and   a  sour-tempered/ 
blind  old  woman  (feeling  the  cups,  whether  they  are 
full,  with  her  finger) ;   and  patiently  endures   contra- 

lo  dictions  without  end ;   too  happy   so  he  may  but  be ' 
allowed  to  listen  and  live.      Nay,  it  does  not  appear 
that  vulgar  vanity  could  ever  have  been  much  flattered 
by  Bos  well's  relation  to  Johnson.     Mr.  Croker  says, 
Johnson  was,  to  the  last,  little  regarded  by  the  great 

15  world;  from  which,  for  a  vulgar  vanity,  all  honor,  as 
from  its  fountain,  descends.  Bozzy,  even  among 
Johnson's  friends  and  special  admirers,  seems  rather 
to  have  been  laughed  at  than  envied:  his  officious, 
whisking,  consequential  ways,  the  daily  reproofs  and 

20  rebuffs  he  underwent,  could  gain  from  the  world  no 
golden,  but  only  leaden,  opinions.  His  devout  Dis- 
cipleship  seemed  nothing  more  than  a  mean  Spaniel- 
ship,  in  the  general  eye.  His  mighty  "constellation," 
or    sun,    round    whom     he,    as    satellite,    observantly 

25  gyrated,  was,  for  the  mass  of  men,  but  a  huge  ill- 
snuffed  tallow-light,  and  he  a  weak  night-moth,  cir- 
cling foolishly,  dangerously  about  it,  not  knowing 
what  he  wanted.  If  he  enjoyed  Highland  dinners  and 
toasts,  as  henchman  to  a  new  sort  of  chieftain,  Henry 

3oErskine,  in  the  domestic  "Outer-House,"  could  hand 
him  a  shilling  "for  the  sight  of  his  Bear."  Doubtless 
the   man   was  laughed   at,    and   often   heard    himself 


So  CARLYLE    ON 

laughed  at  for  his  Johnsonism.  To  be  envied  is  the 
grand  and  sole  aim  of  vulgar  vanity;  to  be  filled  with 
good  things  is  that  of  sensuality:  for  Johnson  perhaps 
no  man  living  <f;/e7V^/ poor  Bozzy  ;  and  of  good  things 
(except  himself  paid  for  them)  there  was  no  vestige  5 
in  that  acquaintanceship.  Had  nothing  other  or  better 
than  vanity  and  sensuality  been  there,  Johnson  and 
Boswell  had  never  come  together,  or  had  soon  and 
finally  separated  again. 

In  fact,  the  so  copious  terrestrial  Dross  that  welters  10 
chaotically,  as  the  outer  sphere  of   this  man's  char- 
acter, does  but  render  for  us  more  remarkable,  more 
touching,  the  celestial  spark  of  goodness,  of  light,  and 
Reverence  for  Wisdom   which  dwelt  in   the  interior, 
and  could  struggle  through  such  encumbrances,  and  15 
in  some  degree  illuminate  and  beautify  them.     There 
is  much  lying  yet  undeveloped  in  the  love  of  Boswell 
for  Johnson.     A  cheering  proof,  in  a  time  which  else 
utterly  wanted  and  still   wants  such,  that  living  Wis- 
dom is  quite  infinitely  precious  to  man,  is  the  symbol  20 
of  the  Godlike  to  him,  which  even  weak  eyes  may  dis- 
cern ;   that   Loyalty,   Discipleship,    all   that   was   ever 
meant  by  Hero-worships  lives  perennially  in  the  human 
bosom,  and  waits,  even  in  these  dead  days,  only  for 
occasions  to  unfold  it,  and  inspire  all  men  with  it,  and  25 
again  make  the  world  alive!      James  Boswell  we  can 
regard  as  a  practical  witness  (or  real  martyr)  to  this 
high  everlasting  truth.     A   wonderful  martyr,  if  you 
will;   and  in  time  which  made  such  martyrdom  doubly 
wonderful :   yet  the  time  and  its  martyr  perhaps  suited  30 
each   other.     For  a   decrepit,    death-sick   Era,    when 
Cant  had  first  decisively  opened  her  poison-breathing 


BOSWELUS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSOl^.  Si 

lips  to  proclaim  that  God-worship  and  Mammon-wor- 
ship were  one  and  the  same,  that  Life  was  a  Z/>,  and 
the  Earth  Beelzebub's,  which  the  Supreme  Quack 
should  inherit:   and  so  all  things  were  fallen  into  the 

5  yellow  leaf,  and  fast  hastening  to  noisome  corruption: 
for  such  an  Era,  perhaps  no  better  Prophet  than  a 
parti-colored  Zany-Prophet,  concealing  (from  himself 
and  others)  his  prophetic  significance  in  such  unex- 
pected vestures, — was  deserved,  or  would  have  been 

10  in  place.  A  precious  medicine  lay  hidden  in  floods 
of  coarsest,  most  composite  treacle ;  the  world  swal- 
lowed the  treacle,  for  it  suited  the  world's  palate; 
and  now,  after  half  a  century,  may  the  medicine  also 
begin  to  show  itself!     James  Boswell  belonged,  in  his 

15  corruptible  part,  to  the  lowest  classes  of  mankind;  a 
foolish,  inflated  creature,  swimming  in  an  element  of 
self-conceit:  but  in  his  corruptible  there  dwelt  an 
incorruptible,  all  the  more  impressive  and  indubitable 
for  the  strange  lodging  it  had  taken. 

20  Consider,  too,  with  what  force,  diligence,  and 
vivacity  he  has  rendered  back  all  this  which,  in  John- 
son's neighborhood,  his  "open  sense"  had  so  eagerly 
and  freely  taken  in.  That  loose-flowing,  careless- 
looking  Work  of  his  is  as  a  picture  painted  by  one  of 

25  Nature's  own  Artists;  the  best  possible  resemblance 
of  a  Reality ;  like  the  very  image  thereof  in  a  clear 
mirror.  Which  indeed  it  was:  let  but  the  mirror  be 
clear ^  this  is  the  great  point;  the  picture  must  and 
will  be  genuine.     How  the  babbling  Bozzy,  inspired 

30  only  by  love,  and  the  recognition  and   vision   which 
love  can  lend,  epitomises  nightly  the  words  of  Wis-> 
dom,  the  deeds  and  aspects  of  Wisdom,  and  so,  by 


82  CARLYLE   ON 

little  and  little,  unconsciously  works  together  for  us 
a  \\\\o\^  Johnsoniad J  a  more  free,  perfect,  sunlit,  and 
spirit-speaking  likeness  than  for  many  centuries  had 
been  drawn  by  man  of  man!  Scarcely  since  the  days 
of  Homer  has  the  feat  been  equalled;  indeed,  in  many  5 
senses,  this  also  is  a  kind  of  heroic  poem.  The  fit 
Odyssey  of  our  unheroic  age  was  to  be  wTitten,  not 
sung;  of  a  Thinker,  not  of  a  Fighter;  and  (for  want 
of  a  Homer)  by  the  first  open  soul  that  might  offer, — 
looked  such  even  through  the  organs  of  a  Boswell.  10 
We  do  the  man's  intellectual  endowment  great  wrong, 
if  we  measure  it  by  its  mere  logical  outcome ;  though 
here,  too,  there  is  not  wanting  a  light  ingenuity,  a 
figurativeness  and  fanciful  sport,  with  glimpses  of 
insight  far  deeper  than  the  common.  But  Boswell's  15 
grand  intellectual  talent  was  (as  such  ever  is)  an 
uncofisciotcs  one,  of  far  higher  reach  and  significance 
than  Logic;  and  showed  itself  in  the  whole,  not  in 
parts.  Here  again  we  have  that  old  saying  verified, 
"The  heart  sees  farther  than  the  head."  20 

Thus  does  poor  Bozzy  stand  out  to  us  as  an  ill- 
assorted,  glaring  mixture  of  the  highest  and  the  lowest. 
What,  indeed,  is  man's  life  generally  but  a  kind  of 
beast-godhood;  the  god  in  us  triumphing  more  and 
more  over  the  beast ;  striving  more  and  more  to  sub-  25 
due  it  under  his  feet?  Did  not  the  Ancients,  in  their 
wise,  perennially- significant  way,  figure  Nature  itself, 
their  sacred  All,  or  Pan,  as  a  portentous  commingling 
of  these  two  discords;  as  musical,  humane,  oracular 
in  its  upper  part,  yet  ending  below  in  the  cloven  hairy  30 
feet  of  a  goat?  The  union  of  melodious,  celestial 
Free-will  and  Reason  with  foul  Irrationality  and  Lust; 


BOSWELVS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  ^Z 

in  which,  nevertheless,  dwelt  a  mysterious  unspeak- 
able Fear  and  half-mad  panic  Awe ;  as  for  mortals 
there  well  might!  And  is  not  man  a  microcosm,  or 
epitomised  mirror  of  that  same  Universe;  or  rather,  is 

5  not  that  Universe  even  Himself,  the  reflex  of  his  own 
fearful  and  wonderful  being,  "the  waste  fantasy  of 
his  own  dream?"  No  wonder  that  man,  that  each 
man,  and  James  Boswell  like  the  others,  should 
resemble  it !      The   peculiarity    in    his    case    was   the 

lo unusual  defect  of  amalgamation  and  subordination: 
the  highest  lay  side  by  side  with  the  lowest;  not 
morally  combined  with  it  and  spiritually  transfiguring 
it,  but  tumbling  in  half-mechanical  juxtaposition  with 
it,   and   from   time  to    time,   as    the  mad  alternation 

15  chanced,  irradiating  it,  or  eclipsed  by  it. 

The  world,  as  we  said,  has  been  but  unjust  to  him ; 
discerning  only  the  outer  terrestrial  and  often  sordid 
mass ;  without  eye,  as  it  generally  is,  for  his  inner 
divine   secret;    and   thus  figuring  him  no  wise  as  a 

20  god  Pan,  but  simply  of  the  bestial  species,  like  the 
cattle  on  a  thousand  hills.  Nay,  sometimes  a  strange 
enough  hypothesis  has  been  started  of  him ;  as  if  it 
were  in  virtue  even  of  these  same  bad  qualities  that 
he  did  his  good  work;  as  if  it  were  the  very  fact  of  his 

25  being  among  the  worst   men  in  this  world   that  had 
enabled  him  to  write  one  of  the  best  books  therein !  ^ 
Falser  hypothesis,  we  may  venture  to  say,  never  rose' 
in  human  soul.     Bad  is  by  its  nature  negative,   and 
can  do  nothing  ;  whatsoever  enables  us  to  do  any  thing 

30  is  by  its  very  nature  ^^<7^/.  Alas,  that  there  should  be 
teachers  in  Israel,  or  even  learners,  to  whom  this  world- 
ancient  fact  is  still  problematical,   or  even  deniable! 


84  CARLYLE   ON 

Boswell  wrote  a  good  Book  because  he  had  a  heart 
and  an  eye  to  discern  Wisdom,  and  an  utterance  to 
render  it  forth ;  because  of  his  free  insight,  his  lively- 
talent,  above  all,  of  his  Love  and  childlike  Open- 
mindedness.  His  sneaking  sycophancies,  his  greedi-  5 
ness  and  forwardness,  whatever  was  bestial  and  earthly 
in  him,  are  so  many  blemishes  in  his  Book,  which 
still  disturb  us  in  its  clearness;  wholly  hindrances, 
not  helps.  Towards  Johnson,  however,  his  feeling 
was  not  Sycophancy,  which  is  the  lowest,  but  P^ever- 10 
ence,  which  is  the  highest  of  human  feelings.  None 
but  a  reverent  man  (which  so  unspeakably  few  are) 
could  have  found  his  way  from  Boswell's  environment 
to  Johnson's:  if  such  worship  for  real  God-made 
superiors  showed  itself  also  as  worship  for  apparent  15 
Tailor-made  superiors,  even  as  hollow  interested 
mouth-worship  for  such, — the  case,  in  this  composite 
human  nature  of  ours,  was  not  miraculous,  the  more 
was  the  pity!  But  for  ourselves,  let  every  one  of  us 
cling  to  this  last  article  of  Faith,  and  know  it  as  the  20 
beginning  of  all  knowledge  worth  the  name:  That 
neither  James  Boswell's  good  Book,  nor  any  other 
good  thing,  in  any  time  or  in  any  place,  was,  is,  or 
can  be  performed  by  any  man  in  virtue  of  his  badness^ 
but  always  and  solely  in  spite  thereof.  25 

As  for  the  Book  itself,  questionless  the  universal 
favor  entertained  for  it  is  well  merited.  In  worth  as 
a  Book  we  have  rated  it  beyond  any  other  product  of 
the  eighteenth  century:  all  Johnson's  own  Writings, 
laborious  and  in  their  kind  genuine  above  most,  stand  30 
on  a  quite  inferior  level  to  it;  already,  indeed,  they 
are  becoming  obsolete  for  this  generation ;  and  for 
i 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  85 

some  future  generation  may  be  valuable  chiefly  as  Pro- 
legomena and  expository  Scholia  to  this  Johnsoniad  of 
Boswell.  Which  of  us  but  remembers,  as  one  of  the 
sunny  spots  in  his  existence,  the  day  when  he  opened 

5  these  airy  volumes,  fascinating  him  by  a  true  natural- 
magic  !  It  was  as  if  the  curtains  of  the  past  were  drawn 
aside,  and  we  looked  mysteriously  into  a  kindred  coun- 
try, where  dwelt  our  Fathers ;  inexpressibly  dear  to  us, 
but  which  had  seemed  forever  hidden  from  our  eyes. 

10  For  the  dead  Night  had  engulfed  it;  all  was  gone, 
vanished  as  if  it  had  not  been.  Nevertheless,  won- 
drously  given  back  to  us,  there  once  more  it  lay;  all 
bright,  lucid,  blooming;  a  little  island  of  Creation 
amid   the  circumambient  Void.     There  it  still  lies; 

15  like  a  thing  stationary,  imperishable,  over  which 
changeful  Time  were  now  accumulating  itself  in  vain, 
and  could  not,  any  longer,  harm  it  or  hide  it. 

If  w^e  examine  by  what  charm   it  is   that  men   are 
still  held  to  this  Life  of  Johnson^  now  when  so  much 

20  else  has  been  forgotten,  the  main  part  of  the  answer 
will  perhaps  be  found  in  that  speculation  "on  the 
import  of  Reality^'"  communicated  to  the  world,  last 
Month,  in  this  Magazine.  The  Johnsoniad  oi  Boswell 
turns  on  objects  that  in  very  deed  existed ;  it  is  all 

25  true.  So  far  other  in  melodiousness  of  tone,  it  vies 
with  the  Odyssey^  or  surpasses  it,  in  this  one  point:  to 
us  these  read  pages,  as  those  chanted  hexameters  were 
to  the  first  Greek  hearers,  are,  in  the  fullest,  deepest 
sense,  wholly  credible.     All  the  wit  and  wisdom  lying 

30  embalmed  in  Boswell's  Book,  plenteous  as  these  are, 
could  not  have  saved  it.  Far  more  scientific  instruc- 
tion (mere  excitement  and  enlightenment  of  the  tJiittk- 


86  CARLYLE   ON 

ing power)  can  be  found  in  twenty  other  works  of  that 
time,  which  make  but  a  quite  secondary  impression 
on  us.  The  other  works  of  that  time,  however,  fall 
under  one  of  two  classes:  either  they  are  professedly 
Didactic;  and,  in  that  way,  mere  Abstractions,  Philo-  5 
sophic  Diagrams,  incapable  of  interesting  us  much 
otherwise  than  as  Euclid's  Ele?nents  may  do;  or  else, 
with  all  their  vivacity  and  pictorial  richness  of  color, 
t/iey  are  Fictions  and  not  Realities.  Deep,  truly,  as  Herr 
Sauerteig  urges,  is  the  force  of  this  consideration :  10 
the  thing  here  stated  is  a  fact;  these  figures,  that  local 
habitation,  are  not  shadow  but  substance.  In  virtue 
of  such  advantages,  see  how  a  very  Boswell  may 
become  Poetical! 

Critics  insist  much  on  the  poet  that  he  should  com- 15 
municate  an  "Infinitude"  to  his  delineation;   that  by 
intensity  of  conception,  by  that  gift  of  "transcendental 
Thought,"  which  is  fitly  wzmt^ genius  and  inspiration, 
he  should  inform  the  Finite  with  a  certain  Infinitude 
of  significance;   or,   as   they  sometimes  say,   ennoble 20 
the  Actual  into  Idealness.     They  are  right   in  their 
precept;   they  mean  rightly.     But  in  cases  like  this  of 
the  Johnsoniad  (such   is   the   dark   grandeur   of  that 
"Time-element,"    wherein   man's    soul    here    below 
lives  imprisoned),  the  Poet's  task  is,  as  it  were,  done  25 
to  his  hand:  Time  itself,  which  is  the  outer  veil  of 
eternity,  invests,  of  its  own  accord,  with  an  authentic, 
felt  "infinitude"  whatsoever  it  has  once  embraced  in 
its  mysterious  folds.     Consider  all   that   lies  in  that 
one  word  Past!     What   a  pathetic,  sacred,  in  every  30 
SQnse poetic,  meaning  is  implied  in  it;  a  meaning  grow- 
ing ever  the  clearer,  the  farther  we  recede  in  Time,— 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  87 

the  more  of  that  same  Past  we  have  to  look  through  !  — 
On  which  ground  indeed  must  Sauerteig  have  built, 
and  not  without  plausibility,  in  that  strange  thesis  of 
his:    "that  History,  after  all,  is  the  true  Poetry;   that 

5    Reality,  if  rightly  interpreted,  is  grander  than  Fiction  ; 
nay  that  even  in  the  right  interpretation  of   Realityi.^^ 
and  History  does  genuine  Poetry  consist." 

Thus  for  Boswell's  Life  of  Johnson  has  Time  done, 
is  Time  still  doing,  what  no  ornament  of  Art  or  Arti- 

10  fice  could  have  done  for  it.  Rough  Samuel  and  sleek 
wheedling  James  were^  and  are  not.  Their  Life  and 
whole  personal  Environment  has  melted  into  air. 
The  Mitre  Tavern  still  stands  in  Fleet  Street;  but 
where  now  is  its  scot-and-lot  paying,  beef-and-ale  lov- 

15  ing,  cocked-hatted,  pot-bellied  Landlord;  its  rosy- 
faced,  assiduous  Landlady,  with  all  her  shining  brass- 
pans,  waxed  tables,  well-filled  larder-shelves;  her 
cooks,  and  bootjacks,  and  errand-boys,  and  watery- 
mouthed   hangers-on?     Gone!    Gone!     The  becking 

20  waiter,  that  with  wreathed  smiles,  wont  to  spread  for 
Samuel  and  Bozzy  their  'supper  of  the  gods,'  has 
long  since  pocketed  his  last  sixpence ;  and  vanished, 
sixpences  and  all,  like  a  ghost  at  cock-crowing.  The 
Bottles  they  drank  out  of  are  all  broken,  the  Chairs 

25  they  sat  on  all  rotted  and  burnt ;  the  very  Knives  and 
Forks  they  ate  with  have  rusted  to  the  heart,  and 
become  brown  oxide  of  iron,  and  mingled  with  the 
indiscriminate  clay.  All,  all,  has  vanished ;  in  very 
deed  and  truth,  like  that  baseless  fabric  of  Prospero's 

30  air-vision.  Of  the  Mitre  Tavern  nothing  but  the  bare 
walls  remain  there:  of  London,  of  England,  of  the 
World,  nothing  but  the  bare  walls  remain;  and  these 


88  CARLYLE   ON 

also  decaying  (were  they  of  adamant),  only  slower. 
The  mysterious  River  of  Existence  rushes  on:  a  new 
Billow  thereof  has  arrived,  and  lashes  wildly  as  ever 
round  the  old  embankments;  but  the  former  Billow, 
with  its  loud,  mad  eddyings,  where  is  it? — Where! —  5 
Now  this  Book  of  Boswell's,  this  is  precisely  a  Revoca- 
tion of  the  Edict  of  Destiny;  so  that  Time  shall  not 
utterly,  not  so  soon  by  several  centuries,  have  dominion 
over  us.  A  little  row  of  Naphtha-lamps,  with  its 
line  of  Naphtha-light,  burns  clear  and  holy  through  10 
the  dead  Night  of  the  Past:  they  who  were  gone  are 
still  here;  though  hidden  they  are  revealed,  though 
dead  they  yet  speak.  There  it  shines,  that  little 
miraculously  lamp-lit  Pathway;  shedding  its  feebler 
and  feebler  twilight  into  the  boundless  dark  Oblivion,  15 
for  all  that  our  Johnson  touched  has  become  illumi- 
nated for  us:  on  which  miraculous  little  pathway  we 
can  still  travel,  and  see  wonders. 

It  is  not  speaking  with  exaggeration,  but  with  strict 
measured  sobriety,  to  say  that  this  Book  of  Boswell's  20 
will  give  us  more  real  insight  into  the  History  of  Eng- 
land during  those    days   than   twenty   other   Books, 
falsely  entitled  "Histories,"  which  take  to  themselves 
that  special  aim.     What   good   is   it   to   me   though 
innumerable  Smolletts  and  Belshams  keep  dinning  in  25 
my  ears   that  a  man   named   George  the   Third   was 
born   and   bred   up,   and   a  man   named   George  the 
Second   died ;  that  Walpole,    and   the  Pelhams,    and 
Chatham,  and  Rockingham,  and  Shelburn,  and  North, 
with  their  Coalition  or  their  Separation  Ministries,  all  30 
ousted  one  another;   and   vehemently  scrambled   for 
"the  thing  they  called  the  Rudder  of  Government, 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  89 

but  which  was  in  reality  the  Spigot  of  Taxation"? 
That  debates  were  held,  and  infinite  jarring  and 
jargoning  took  place ;  and  road-bills  and  enclosure- 
bills,  and  game-bills  and  India-bills,  and  Laws  which 

5  no  man  can  number,  which  happily  few  men  needed 
to  trouble  their  heads  with  beyond  the  passing  moment, 
were  enacted,  and  printed  by  the  King's  Stationer? 
That  he  who  sat  in  Chancery  and  rayed-out  specula- 
tion from  the  Woolsack,  was  now  a  man  that  squinted, 

10  now  a  man  that  did  not  squint?  To  the  hungry  and 
thirsty  mind  all  this  avails  next  to  nothing.  These 
men  and  these  things,  we  indeed  know,  did  swim,  by 
strength  or  by  specific — levity  (as  apples  or  as  horse- 
dung),  on  the  top  of  the  current ;   but  is  it  by  painfully 

15  noting  the  courses,  eddyings,  and  bobbings  hither  and 
thither  of  such  drift-articles  that  you  will  unfold  to 
me  the  nature  of  the  current  itself;  of  that  mighty- 
rolling,  loud-roaring  Life- current,  bottomless  as  the 
foundations  of  the  Universe,  mysterious  as  its  Author? 

20  The  thing  I  want  to  see  is  not  Redbook  Lists,  and 
Court  Calendars,  and  Parliamentary  Registers,  but 
the  Life  of  Man  in  England:  what  men  did,  thought 
suffered,  enjoyed ;  the  form,  especially  the  spirit,  of 
their  terrestial   existence,    its   outward    environment, 

25  its  inward  principle  ;  hoiv  and  ivhat  it  was ;  whence  it 
proceeded,  whither  it  was  tending. 

Mournful,  in  truth,  is  it  to  behold  what  the  busi- 
ness called  "History,"  in  these  so  enlightened  and 
illuminated   times,    still   continues   to    be.     Can    you 

30  gather  from  it,  read  till  your  eyes  go  out,  any  dimmest 
shadow  of  an  answer  to  that  great  question:  How 
men  lived  and  had  their  being;  were  it  but  economi- 


90  CARLYLE   ON 

cally,  as  what  wages  they  got,  and  what  they  bought 
with  these?  Unhappily  you  cannot.  History  will 
throw  no  light  on  any  such  matter.  At  the  point 
where  living  memory  fails,  it  is  all  darkness;  Mr. 
Senior  and  Mr.  Sadler  must  still  debate  this  simplest  5 
of  all  elements  in  the  condition  of  the  Past:  Whether 
men  were  better  off,  in  their  mere  larders  and  pantries, 
or  were  worse  off  than  now !  History,  as  it  stands  all 
bound  up  in  gilt  volumes,  is  but  a  shade  more  instruc- 
tive than  the  wooden  volumes  of  a  Backgammon- 10 
board.  How  my  Prime  Minister  was  appointed  is  of 
less  moment  to  me  than  How  my  House  Servant  was 
hired.  In  these  days,  ten  ordinary  Histories  of  King 
and  Courtiers  were  well  exchanged  against  the  tenth 
part  of  one  good  History  of  Booksellers.  15 

For  example,  I  would  fain  know  the  History  of 
Scotland:  who  can  tell  it  me?  "Robertson,"  cry 
innumerable  voices;  "Robertson  against  the  world." 
I  open  Robertson;  and  find  there,  through  long  ages 
too  confused  for  narrative,  and  fit  only  to  be  presented  20 
in  the  way  of  epitome  and  distilled  essence,  a  cunning 
answer  and  hypothesis,  not  to  this  question:  By 
whom,  and  by  what  means,  when  and  how,  was  this 
fair  broad  Scotland,  with  its  Arts  and  Manufactures, 
Temples,  Schools,  Institutions,  Poetry,  Spirit,  Na-  25 
tional  Character,  created,  and  made  arable,  verdant, 
peculiar,  great,  here  as  I  can  see  some  fair  section  of 
it  lying,  kind  and  strong  (like  some  Bacchus-tamed 
Lion),  from  the  Castle-hill  of  Edinburgh? — 'but  to 
this  other  question:  How  did  the  king  keep  himself  30 
alive  in  those  old  days;  and  restrain  so  many  Butcher 
Barons  and  ravenous  Henchmen  from  utterly  extirpat- 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOILNSOiY.  91 

ing  one  another,  so  that  killing  went  on  in  some  sort 
of  moderation?  In  the  one  little  Letter  of  ^neas 
Sylvius,  from  old  Scotland,  there  is  more  of  History 
than  in  all  this. — At  length,  however,  we  come  to  a 

5  luminous  age,  interesting  enough:  to  the  age  of  the 
Reformation,  All  Scotland  is  awakened  to  a  second 
higher  life;  the  Spirit  of  the  Highest  stirs  in  every 
bosom,  agitates  every  bosom ;  Scotland  is  convulsed, 
fermenting,  struggling  to  body  itself  forth  anew.     To 

10 the  herdsman,  among  his  cattle  in  remote  woods;  to 
the  craftsman,  in  his  rude,  heath-thatched  workshop, 
among  his  rude  guild-brethren ;  to  the  great  and  to 
the  little,  a  new  light  has  arisen:  in  town  and  hamlet 
groups  are  gathered,  with  eloquent  looks,  and  governed 

15  or  ungovernable  tongues;  the  great  and  the  little  go 
forth  together  to  do  battle  for  the  Lord  against  the 
mighty.  We  ask,  with  breathless  eagerness:  How 
was  it;  how  went  it  on?  Let  us  understand  it,  let 
us  see  it,  and  know  it! — In  reply,  is  handed  us  a  really 

20  graceful  and  most  dainty  little  Scandalous  Chronicle 
(as  for  some  Journal  of  Fashion)  of  two  persons:  Mary 
Stuart,  a  Beauty,  but  over  lightheaded ;  and  Henry 
Darnley,  a  Booby,  who  had  fine  legs.  How  these 
first  courted,  billed,  and  cooed,  according  to  nature; 

25  then  pouted,  fretted,  grew  utterly  enraged,  and  blew 
one  another  up  with  gunpowder:  this,  and  not  the 
History  of  Scotland,  is  what  we  good-naturedly  read. 
Nay,  by  other  hands,  something  like  a  horse-load  of 
other  Books  have  been  written  to   prove  that  it   was 

30  the  Beauty  who  blew  up  the  Booby,  and  that  it  was 
not  she.  Who  or  what  it  was,  the  thing  once  for  all 
being  so  effectually  done,  concerns  us  little.     To  know 


92  CARLYLE   OX 

Scotland,  at  that  great  epoch,  were  a  valuable  Increase 
to  knowledge:  to  know  poor  Darnley,  and  see  him 
with  burning  candle,  from  centre  to  skin,  were  no 
increase  of  knowledge  at  all. — Thus  is  History  written. 

Hence,  indeed,  comes  it  that  History,  which  should    5 
be  "the  essence  of  innumerable  Biographies,"  will  tell 
us,  question  it  as  we  like,  less  than  one  genuine  Bio- 
graphy may  do,  pleasantly  and  of  its  own  accord !      The 
time  is  approaching  when  History   will  be  attempted 
on  quite  other  principles ;   when  the  Court,  the  Senate,  10 
and  the    Battle-field,   receding  more  and  more    into 
the   back-ground,    the    Temple,    the  Workshop,    and 
Social  Hearth,  will  advance  more  and  more  into  the 
foreground;   and  History  will  not  content  itself  with 
shaping  some  answer  to  that  question:  How  were  men  15 
taxed  and  kept  quiet  then?   but  will   seek   to   answer 
this  other  infinitely  wider  and  higher  question:  How 
and  what  were  men  then?     Not  our  Government  only, 
or  the  ''house  wherein  our  life  was  led,"  but  the  Life 
itself  we  led  there,  will  be  inquired  into.     Of  which  20 
latter   it    may   be    found    that    Government,    in    any 
modern  sense  of  the  word,  is  after  all  but  a  secondary 
condition:  in  the  mere  sense  of  Taxation  2:^^  Keeping 
quiet ^  a  small,  almost  a  pitiful  one. — Meanwhile  let 
us  welcome  such    Boswells,   each   in   his  degree,   as  25 
bring  us  any  genuine  contribution,  were  it  never  so 
inadequate,  so  inconsiderable. 

An  exception  was  early  taken  against  this  Life  of 
Johnson^   and  all  similar    enterprises,   which  we  here 
recommend;  and  has  been  transmitted  from  critic  to 30 
critic,  and  repeated  in  their  several  dialects,  uninter- 
ruptedly, ever  since :   That  such  jottings-down  of  care- 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  93 

less  conversation  are  an  infringement  of  social  privacy;- 
a  crime  against  our  highest  Freedom,  the  Freedom  of 
man's    intercourse    with    man.     To    this    accusation, 
which  we  have  read  and  heard  oftener  than   enough, 

5  might  it  not  be  well  for  once  to  offer  the  flattest  con- 
tradiction, and  plea  of  Not  at  all  guilty  1  Not  that 
conversation  is  noted  down,  but  that  conversation 
should  not  deserve  noting  down,  is  the  evil.  Doubtless 
if  conversation  be  falsely  recorded,  then  is  it  simply  a 

10  Lie  and  worthy  of  being  swept  with  all  despatch  to 
the  Father  of  Lies.  But  if,  on  the  other  hand,  con- 
versation can  be  authentically  recorded  and  any  one 
is  ready  for  the  task,  let  him  by  all  means  proceed 
with  it ;   let  conversation  be  kept  in  remembrance  to 

15  the  latest  date  possible.  Nay  should  the  conscious- 
ness that  a  man  may  be  among  us  "taking  notes" 
tend,  in  any  measure,  to  restrict  those  floods  of  idle 
insincere  speech^  with  which  the  thought  of  mankind 
is  well  nigh  drowned, — were  it  other  than  the  most 

20  indubitable  benefit?  He  who  speaks  honestly  cares 
not,  needs  not  care,  though  his  words  be  preserved  to 
remotest  time:  for  him  who  speaks  ^/Vhonestly,  the 
fittest  of  all  punishments  seems  to  be  this  same,  which 
the    nature    of    the    case    provides.     The    dishonest 

25  speaker,  not  he  only  who  purposely  utters  falsehoods, 
but  he  who  does  not  purposely,  and  with  sincere  heart, 
utter  Truth,  and  Truth  alone;  who  babbles  he  knows 
not  what,  and  has  clapped  no  bridle  on  his  tongue, 
but  lets  it  run  racket,  ejecting  chatter  and  futility, — 

30  is  among  the  most  indisputable  malefactors  omitted, 
or  inserted,  in  the  Criminal  Calendar.  To  him  that  will 
well  consider  it,  idle  speaking  is  precisely  the  begin- 


94  CARLYLE   ON 

ning  of  all  Hollowness,  Halfness,  Infidelity  (want  of 
Faithfulness) ;  the  genial  atmosphere  in  which  rank 
weeds  of  every  kind  attain  the  mastery  over  noble 
fruits  in  man's  life,  and  utterly  choke  them  out:  one 
of  the  most  crying  maladies  of  these  days,  and  to  be  5 
testified  against,  and  in  all  ways  to  the  uttermost  with- 
stood. Wise,  of  a  wisdom  far  beyond  our  shallow 
depth,  was  that  old  precept:  Watch  thy  tongue  ;  out 
of  it  are  the  issues  of  Life!  "Man  is  properly  an 
iiicarnaied  word:''  the  word  that  he  speaks  is  the  10 
man  himself.  Were  eyes  put  into  our  head,  that  we 
might  see  J  or  only  that  we  might  fancy,  and  plausibly 
pretend,  w^e  had  seen  ?  Was  the  tongue  suspended 
there,  that  it  might  tell  truly  what  we  had  seen,  and 
make  man  the  soul's-brother  of  man;  or  only  that  it  15 
might  utter  vain  sounds,  jargon,  soul-confusing,  and 
so  divide  man,  as  by  enchanted  walls  of  Darkness, 
from  union  with  man?  Thou  who  wearest  that  cun- 
ning. Heaven-made  organ,  a  Tongue,  think  well  of 
this.  Speak  not,  I  passionately  entreat  thee,  till  thy  20 
thought  hath  silently  matured  itself,  till  thou  have 
other  than  mad  and  mad-making  noises  to  emit:  hold 
thy  tongue  (thou  hast  it  a-holding)  till  j-^w*?  meaning  lie 
behind,  to  set  it  wagging.  Consider  the  significance 
of  Silence  ;  it  is  boundless,  never  by  meditating  to  25 
be  exhausted ;  unspeakably  profitable  to  thee  !  Cease 
that  chaotic  hubbub,  wherein  thy  own  soul  runs  to 
waste,  to  confused  suicidal  dislocation  and  stupor: 
out  of  Silence  comes  thy  strength.  "Speech  is  silvern, 
Silence  is  golden  ;  Speech  is  human,  Silence  is  divine."  30 
Fool!  thinkest  thou  that  because  no  Boswell  is  there 
with  ass-skin   and  black-lead  to   note   thy  jargon,  it 


BO  SWELL'S  LLFE    OF  JOHN  SO  A^.  95 

therefore  dies  and  is  harmless?  Nothing  dies,  nothing 
can  die.  No  idlest  word  thou  speakest  but  is  a  seed 
cast  into  Time,  and  grows  through  all  Eternity !  The 
Recording  Angel,  consider  it  well,  is  no  fable,  but 
5  the  truest  of  truths:  the  paper  tablets  thou  canst 
burn  ;  of  the  "iron  leaf"  there  is  no  burning. — Truly, 
if  we  can  permit  God  Almighty  to  note  down  our  con- 
versation, thinking  it  good  enough  for  Him, — any 
poor  Boswell  need  not  scruple  to  work  his  will  of  it. 

lo  Leaving  now  this  our  English  Odyssey^  with  its 
Singer  and  Scholiast,  let  us  come  to  the  Ulysses  ;  that 
great  Samuel  Johnson  himself,  the  far-experienced, 
"much-enduring  man,"  whose  labors  and  pilgrimage 
are  here  sung.     A  full-length  image  of  his  Existence 

15  has  been  preserved  for  us:  and  he,  perhaps  of  all  liv- 
ing Englishmen,  was  the  one  who  best  deserved  that 
honor.  For  if  it  is  true  and  now  almost  proverbial, 
that  "the  Life  of  the  lowest  mortal,  if  faithfully 
recorded,  would  be  interesting  to  the  highest;"  how 

20  much  more  when  the  mortal  in  question  was  already 
distinguished  in  fortune  and  natural  quality,  so  that  his 
thinkings  and  doings  were  not  significant  of  himself 
only,  but  of  large  masses  of  mankind!  "There  is 
not  a  man  whom  I  meet   on  the  streets,"  says   one, 

25  "but  I  could  like,  were  it  otherwise  convenient,  to 
know  his  Biography:"  nevertheless,  could  an  enlight- 
ened curiosity  be  so  far  gratified,  it  must  be  owned 
the  Biography  of  most  ought  to  be,  in  an  extreme 
degree,  summary.     In  this  world  there  is  so  wonder- 

30  fully  little  self-subsistence  among  men ;  next  to  no  orig- 
inality (though  never  absolutely  none):  one  Life  is  too 


96  CARL  VLB   ON 

servilely  the  copy  of  another;  and  so  in  whole  thou- 
sands of  them  you  find  little  that  is  properly  new ;  noth- 
ing but  the  old  song  sung  by  a  new  voice,  with  better 
or  worse  execution,  here  and  there  an  ornamental 
(juaver,  and  false  notes  enough:  but  the  fundamental  5 
tune  is  ever  the  same;  and  for  the  words,  these,  all 
that  they  meant  stands  written  generally  on  the  Church- 
yard-stone: Natus  sum;  esuriebam,  qttcerebam  j  nunc 
repletics  reqinesco.  Mankind  sail  their  Life-voyage  in 
huge  fleets,  following  some  single  whale-fishing  or  her- 10 
ring-fishing  Commodore:  the  log-book  of  each  differs 
not,  in  essential  purport,  from  that  of  any  other;  nay 
the  most  have  no  legible  log-book  (reflection,  observa- 
tion not  being  among  their  talents);  keep  no  reckoning, 
only  keep  in  sight  of  the  flagship, — and  fish.  Read  the  15 
Commodore's  Papers  (know  his  Life) ;  and  even  your 
lover  of  that  street  Biography  will  have  learned  the 
most  of  what  he  sought  after. 

Or,  the  servile  iniitancy,  and  yet  also  a  nobler  rela- 
tionship and  mysterious  union  to  one  another  which  20 
lies  in  such  imitancy,  of  Mankind  might  be  illustrated 
under  the  different  figure  (itself  nowise  original)  of 
a  Plock  of  Sheep.     Sheep  go  in  flocks  for  three  rea- 
sons:   First,  because  they  are  of  a  gregarious  temper, 
and  love  to  be  together:   Secondly,   because  of  their  25 
cowardice;   they  are  afraid  to  be  left  alone:  Thirdly, 
because  the  common  run  of  them  are  dull  of  sight,  to 
a  proverb,  and  can  have  no  choice  in  roads;   sheep 
can  in  fact  see  nothing;   in  a  celestial  Luminary,  and 
a  scoured   pewter  Tankard,  would   discern  only  that  30 
both  dazzled  them,  and  were   of  unspeakable   glory. 
How  like  their  fellow-creatures  of  the  human  species ! 


BO  SWELL'S  LLFE    OF  JOHNSON.  97 

Men,  too,  as  was  from  the  first  maintained  here,  are 
gregarious;  then  surely  faint-hearted  enough,  trem- 
bling to  be  left  by  themselves  ;  above  all,  dull-sighted, 
down  to  the  verge  of  utter  blindness.     Thus  are  we 

5  seen  ever  running  in  torrents,  and  mobs,  if  we  run  at 
all;  and  after  what  foolish  scoured  Tankards,  mistak- 
ing them  for  suns!  Foolish  Turnip-lanterns  likewise, 
to  all  appearance  supernatural,  keep  whole  nations 
quaking,  their  hair  on  end.      Neither  know  we,  except 

10 by  blind  habit,  where  the  good  pastures  lie:  solely 
when  the  sweet  grass  is  between  our  teeth,  we  know 
it,  and  chew  it;  also  when  grass  is  bitter  and  scant, 
we  know  it, — and  bleat  and  butt:  these  last  two  facts 
we  know  of  a  truth  and  in  very  deed. — Thus  do  Men 

15  and  Sheep  play  their  parts  on  this  Nether  Earth; 
wandering  restlessly  in  large  masses,  they  know  not 
whither;  for  most  part  each  following  his  neighbor, 
and  his  own  nose. 

Nevertheless,    not    always ;   look   better,    you    shall 

2ofind  certain  that  do,  in  some  small  degree,  knoiv 
whither.  Sheep  have  their  Bell-wether;  some  ram  of 
the  folds,  endued  with  more  valor,  with  clearer  vision 
than  other  sheep ;  he  leads  them  through  the  wolds, 
by  height  and  hollow,  to  the  woods  and  water-courses, 

25  for  covert  or  for  pleasant  provender ;  courageously 
marching,  and  if  need  be,  leaping,  and  with  hoof  and 
horn  doing  battle,  in  the  van:  him  they  courageously, 
and  with  assured  heart,  follow.  Touching  it  is,  as 
every  herdsman  will  inform  you,  with  what  chivalrous 

30  devotedness  these  woolly  Hosts  adhere  to  their 
Wether;  and  rush  after  him,  through  good  report  and 
through   bad   report,    were   it   into   safe   shelters   and 


98  CARLYLE   ON 

green  tliymy  nooks,  or  into  asphaltic  lakes  and  the 
jaws  of  devouring  lions.  Ever  also  must  we  recall 
that  fact  which  we  owe  Jean  Paul's  quick  eye:  "If 
you  hold  a  stick  before  the  Wether,  so  that  he,  by 
necessity,  leaps  in  passing  you,  and  then  withdraw  5 
your  stick,  the  Flock  will  nevertheless  all  leap  as  he 
did  ;  and  the  thousandth  sheep  shall  be  found  impetu- 
ously vaulting  over  air,  as  the  first  did  over  an  other- 
wise impassable  barrier."  Reader,  wouldst  thou 
understand  Society,  ponder  well  those  ovine  proceed- 10 
ings;   thou  wilt  find  them  all  curiously  significant. 

Now  if  sheep  always,  how  much  more  must  men 
always,  have  their  Chief,  their  Guide!  Man  too  is 
by  nature  quite  thoroughly  gregafious  :  nay,  ever  he 
struggles  to  be  something  more,  to  be  social  j  not  even  15 
when  Society  has  become  impossible  does  that  deep- 
seated  tendency  and  effort  forsake  him.  Man,  as  if 
by  miraculous  magic,  imparts  his  Thoughts,  his  Mood 
of  mind  to  man ;  an  unspeakable  communion  binds 
all  past,  present,  and  future  men  into  one  indissoluble  20 
whole,  almost  into  one  living  Individual.  Of  which 
high,  mysterious  Truth,  this  disposition  to  imitate,  to 
lead  and  be  led,  this  impossibility  7iot  to  imitate,  is 
the  most  constant,  and  one  of  the  simplest  manifesta- 
tions. To  "imitate!"  which  of  us  all  can  measure  25 
the  significance  that  lies  in  that  one  word?  By  virtue 
of  which  the  infant  Man,  born  at  Wolstrop,  grows  up 
not  to  be  a  hairy  Savage,  and  chewer  of  Acorns,  but 
an  Isaac  Newton  and  Discoverer  of  Solar  Systems!  — 
Thus,  both  in  a  celestial  and  terrestrial  sense,  are  we  30 
a  Flock^  such  as  there  is  no  other:  nay,  looking  away 
from  the  base  and  ludicrous  to  the  sublime  and  sacred 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  99 

side  of  the  matter  (since  in  every  matter  there  are  two 
sides),  have  not  we  also  a  Shepherd,  "if  we  will  but 
hear  his  voice?"  Of  those  stupid  multitudes  there  is 
no  one  but  has  an  immortal  Soul  within  him;   a  reflex 

5  and  living  image  of  God's  whole  Universe:  strangely, 
from  its  dim  environment,  the  light  of  the  Highest 
looks  through  him; — for  which  reason,  indeed,  it  is 
that  we  claim  a  brotherhood  with  him,  and  so  love  to 
know  his  History,  and  come  into  clearer  and  clearer 

10  union  with  all  that  he  feels,  and  says,  and  does. 

However,  the  chief  thing  to  be  noted  was  this: 
Amid  those  dull  millions,  who,  as  a  dull  flock,  roll 
hither  and  thither,  whithersoever  they  are  led;  and 
seem  all  sightless  and  slavish,  accomplishing,  attempt- 

15  ing  little  save  what  the  animal  instinct  (in  its  some- 
what higher  kind)  might  teach  (to  keep  themselves 
and  their  young  ones  alive), — are  scattered  here  and 
there  superior  natures,  whose  eye  is  not  destitute  of 
free  vision,   nor  their  heart  of  free  volition.     These 

2o  latter,  therefore,  examine  and  determine,  not  what 
others  do,  but  what  it  is  right  to  do ;  towards  which 
and  which  only,  will  they,  with  such  force  as  is  given 
them,  resolutely  endeavor:  for  if  the  Machine,  living 
or  inanimate,  is  merely  y>^,  or  desires  to  be  fed,  and 

25  so  works;  the  Person  can  will,  and  so  do.  These  are 
properly  our  Men,  our  Great  Men;  the  guides  of  the 
dull  host, — which  follows  them  as  by  an  irrevocable 
decree.  They  are  the  chosen  of  the  world:  they  had 
this  rare  faculty  not  only  of  "supposing"  and  "inclin- 

30 ing  to  think,"  but  of  knowing  and  believing;  the  nature 
of  their  being  was,  that  they  lived  not  by  Hearsay 
but  by  clear  Vision  ;  while  others  hovered  and  swam 


lOO  CARLYLE    ON 

along,  in  the  grand  Vanity-fair  of  the  World,  blinded 
by  the  mere  "Shows  of  things,"  these  saw  into  the 
Things  themselves,  and  could  walk  as  men  having  an 
eternal  loadstar,  and  with  their  feet  on  sure  paths. 
Thus  was  there  a  Reality  in  their  existence;  some-  5 
thing  of  a  perennial  character;  in  virtue  of  which 
indeed  it  is  that  the  memory  of  them  is  perennial. 
Whoso  belongs  only  to  his  own  age,  and  reverences 
only  its  gilt  Popinjays  or  soot-smeared  Mumbojumbos, 
must  needs  die  with  it:  though  he  have  been  crowned  10 
seven  times  in  the  Capitol,  or  seventy  and  seven  times, 
and  Rumor  have  blown  his  praises  to  all  the  four 
winds,  deafening  every  ear  therewith, — it  avails  not; 
there  was  nothing  universal,  nothing  eternal  in  him; 
he  must  fade  away,  even  as  the  Popinjay-gildings  15 
and  Scarecrow-apparel,  which  he  could  not  see 
through.  The  great  man  does,  in  good  truth,  belong 
to  his  own  age;  nay  more  so  than  any  other  man; 
being  properly  the  synopsis  and  epitome  of  such  age 
with  its  interests  and  influences:  but  belongs  likewise 20 
to  all  ages,  otherwise  he  is  not  great.  What  was 
transitory  in  him  passes  away ;  and  an  immortal  part 
remains,  the  significance  of  which  is  in  strict  speech 
inexhaustible, — as  that  of  every  7'eal  object  is.  Aloft, 
conspicuous,  on  his  enduring  basis,  he  stands  there,  25 
serene,  unaltering;  silently  addresses  to  every  new 
generation  a  new  lesson  and  monition.  Well  is  his 
Life  worth  writing,  worth  interpreting;  and  ever,  in 
the  new  dialect  of  new  times,  of  re-writing  and  re- 
interpreting. 30 

Of  such  chosen  men  was  Samuel  Johnson:  not  rank- 
ing among  the  highest,  or  even  the  high,  yet  distinctly 


BOSWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHN  SO  M.  :ioi 

admitted  into  that  sacred  band  •-■whoGe  'exisit'cnce  wa-s 
no  idle  Dream,  but  a  Reality  which  he  transacted 
awake ;  nowise  a  Clothes-horse  and  Patent  Digester, 
but  a  genuine  Man.     By  nature  he  was  gifted  for  the 

5  noblest  of  earthly  tasks,  that  of  Priesthood,  and 
Guidance  of  mankind ;  by  destiny,  moreover,  he  was 
appointed  to  this  task,  and  did  actually,  according  to 
strength,  fufil  the  same:  so  that  always  the  question, 
Hoiv  ;  in  what  spirit  J  under  what  shape!  remains  for 

lo  us  to  be  asked  and  answered  concerning  him.  For  as 
the  highest  Gospel  was  a  Biography,  so  is  the  Life  of 
every  good  man  still  an  indubitable  Gospel,  and 
preaches  to  the  eye  and  heart  and  whole  man,  so 
that    Devils   even   must   believe   and   tremble,   these 

15  gladdest  tidings:  "Man  is  heaven-born;  not  the  thrall 
of  Circumstances,  of  Necessity,  but  the  victorious 
subduer  thereof:  behold  how  he  can  become  the 
'Announcer  of  himself  and  of  his  Freedom;'  and  is 
ever  what  the  Thinker  has  named  him,  'the  Messias 

20 of  Nature!'  " — Yes,  Reader,  all  this  that  thou  hast  so 
often  heard  about  "force  of  circumstances,"  "the 
creature  of  the  time,"  "balancing  of  motives,"  and 
who  knows  what  melancholy  stuff  to  the  like  purport, 
wherein  thou,  as  in  a  nightmare  Dream,  sittest  para- 

25  lysed,  and  hast  no  force  left, — was  in  very  truth,  if 
Johnson  and  waking  men  are  to  be  credited,  little 
other  than  a  hag-ridden  vision  of  death-sleep;  some 
half-iSiCX.,  more  fatal  at  times  than  a  whole  false- 
hood.    Shake  it  off;   awake;   up  and  be  doing,  even 

30 as  it  is  given  thee! 

The    Contradiction  which   yawns   wide   enough    in 
every  Life,  which  it  is  the  meaning  and  task  of  Life 


lo.!  Ca-RLYLE   on 

\o  .leconoile,  w^^s  jin-  Jqhnson's  wider  than  in  most. 
Seldom,  for  any  man,  has  the  contrast  between  the 
ethereal  heavenward  side  of  things,  and  the  dark  sor- 
did earthward,  been  more  glaring:  whether  we  look 
at  Nature's  work  with  him  or  Fortune's,  from  first  to  5 
last,  heterogeneity,  as  of  sunbeams  and  miry  clay,  is 
on  all  hands  manifest.  Whereby  indeed,  only  this  was 
declared.  That  much  Life  had  been  given  him ;  many 
things  to  triumph  over,  a  great  work  to  do.  Happily 
also  he  did  it;  better  than  the  most.  10 

Nature  had  given  him  a  high,  keen-visioned,  almost 
poetic  soul;  yet  withal  imprisoned  it  in  an  inert, 
unsightly  body:  he  that  could  never  rest  had  not 
limbs  that  would  move  with  him,  but  only  roll  and 
waddle:  the  inward  eye,  all-penetrating,  all-embrac- 15 
ing,  must  look  through  bodily  w'indows  that  were  dim, 
half-blinded;  he  so  loved  men,  and  "never  once  saw 
the  human  face  divine!"  Not  less  did  he  prize  the 
love  of  men;  he  was  eminently  social;  the  approbation 
of  his  fellows  was  dear  to  him,  "valuable,"  as  he  20 
owned,  "if  from  the  meanest  of  human  beings:"  yet 
the  first  impression  he  produced  on  every  man  was 
to  be  one  of  aversion,  almost  of  disgust.  By  Nature 
it  was  further  ordered  that  the  imperious  Johnson 
should  be  born  poor:  the  ruler-soul,  strong  in  its  25 
native  royalty,  generous,  uncontrollable,  like  the  lion 
of  the  woods,  was  to  be  housed,  then,  in  such  a  dwell- 
ing-place: of  Disfigurement,  Disease,  and,  lastly,  of 
a  Poverty  which  itself  made  him  the  servant  of  serv- 
ants. Thus  was  the  born  King  likewise  a  born  Slave:  30 
the  divine  spirit  of  Music  must  awake  imprisoned 
amid  dull-croaking  universal  Discords;  the  Ariel  finds 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  103 

himself  encased  in  the  coarse  hulls  of  a  Caliban.  So 
is  it  more  or  less,  we  know  (and  thou,  O  Reader, 
knowest  and  feelest  even  now),  Avith  all  men:  yet 
with    the   fewest    men   in    any    such    degree    as    with 

5    Johnson. 

Fortune,  moreover,  which  had  so  managed  his  first 
appearance  in  the  world,  lets  not  her  hand  lie  idle,  or 
turn  the  other  way,  but  works  unweariedly  in  the  same 
spirit,    while    he    is   journeying    through    the    world. 

10 What  such  a  mind,  stamped  of  Nature's  noblest 
metal,  though  in  so  ungainly  a  die,  was  specially  and 
best  of  all  fitted  for,  might  still  be  a  question.  To 
none  of  the  world's  few  Incorporated  Guilds  could 
he  have   adjusted  himself  without  difficulty,  without 

15  distortion  ;  in  none  been  a  Guild-Brother  well  at  ease. 
Perhaps,  if  we  look  to  the  strictly  practical  nature  of  his 
faculty,  to  the  strength,  decision,  method  that  manifests 
itself  in  him,  we  may  say  that  his  calling  was  rather 
towards  Active  than  Speculative  life;  that  as  States- 

20  man  (in  the  higher,  now  obsolete  sense).  Lawgiver, 
Ruler;  in  short,  as  Doer  of  the  Work,  he  had  shone 
even  more  than  as  Speaker  of  the  Word.  His  honesty 
of  heart,  his  courageous  temper,  the  value  he  set  on 
things  outward  and  material,  might  have  made  him  a 

25  King  among  Kings.  Had  the  golden  age  of  those 
new  French  Prophets,  when  it  shall  be:  A  chacun 
selon  sa  capacite  ;  a  chaqiie  capacite  selon  ses  ceuvres^  but 
arrived!  Indeed,  even  in  our  brazen  and  Birming- 
ham-lacker  age,    he    himself   regretted   that    he   had 

30  not  become  a  Lawyer,  and  risen  to  be  Chancellor, 
which  he  might  well  have  done.  However,  it  was 
otherwise  appointed.     To  no  man  does  Fortune  throw 


I04  CARLYLE   ON 

open  all  the  kingdoms  of  this  world,  and  say:  It  is 
thine ;  choose  where  thou  wilt  dwell !  To  the  most 
she  opens  hardly  the  smallest  cranny  or  doghutch,  and 
says,  not  without  asperity:  There,  that  is  thine 
while  thou  canst  keep  it;  nestle  thyself  there,  and  5 
bless  Heaven!  Alas,  men  must  fit  themselves  into 
many  things:  some  forty  years  ago,  for  instance,  the 
noblest  and  ablest  Man  in  all  the  British  lands  might 
be  seen  not  swaying  the  royal  sceptre,  or  the  pontiff's 
censer,  on  the  pinnacle  of  the  World,  but  gauging  ale- 10 
tubs  in  the  little  burgh  of  Dumfries  !  Johnson  came  a 
little  nearer  the  mark  than  Burns:  but  with  him  too 
"Strength  was  mournfully  denied  its  arena;"  he  too 
had  to  fight  Fortune  at  strange  odds,  all  his  life  long. 

Johnson's  disposition  for  royalty  (had  the  Fates  so  15 
ordered    it)    is    well    seen    in    early  boyhood.      "His 
favorites,"  says  Boswell,  "used  to  receive  very  liberal 
assistance   from    him ;    and  such  was  the  submission 
and  deference  with  which  he  was  treated,  that  three 
of  the  boys,  of  whom  Mr.  Hector  was  sometimes  one,  20 
used  to  come  in  the  morning  as  his  humble  attendants, 
and  carry  him  to  school.     One  in  the  middle  stooped, 
while  he  sat  upon  his  back;  and  one  on  each  side  sup- 
ported him;    and   thus   was  he    borne  triumphant." 
The  purfly,  sand-blind  lubber  and  blubber,  with   his  25 
open    mouth,    and    face    of   bruised    honeycomb;  yet 
already  dominant,  imperial,  irresistible!      Not  in   the 
"King's-chair"   (of  human   arms)  as  we   see,  do  his 
three    satellites    carry    him    along:    rather    on     the 
TyranVs-saddle^  the  back  of  his  fellow-creature,  must  30 
he  ride  prosperous! — The  child  is  father  of  the  man. 
He  who  had  seen  fifty  years  into  coming  Time,  would 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  105 

have  felt  that  little  spectacle  of  mischievous  school- 
boys to  be  a  great  one.  For  us,  who  look  back  on  it, 
and  what  followed  it,  now  from  afar,  there  arise 
questions  enough:  How  looked  these  urchins?     What 

5  jackets  and  galligaskins  had  they ;  felt  headgear,  or 
of  dogskin  leather?  What  was  old  Lichfield  doing 
then;  what  thinking? — and  so  on,  through  the  whole 
series  of  Corporal  Trim's  "auxiliary  verbs."  A 
picture  of  it    all    fashions  itself  together ;  — only  un- 

10  happily  we  have  no  brush  and  no  fingers. 

Boyhood  is  now  past;  the  ferula  of  Pedagogue 
waves  harmless,  in  the  distance:  Samuel  has  struggled 
up  to  uncoutli  bulk  and  youthhood,  wrestling  with 
Disease  and  Poverty,  all  the  way;   which  two  continue 

15  still  his  companions.  At  College  we  see  little  of  him; 
yet  thus  much,  that  things  went  not  well.  A  rugged 
wild-man  of  the  desert,  awakened  to  .the  feeling  of 
himself;  proud  as  the  proudest,  poor  as  the  poorest; 
stoically   shut   up,    silently    enduring    the    incurable: 

20  what  a  world  of  blackest  gloom,  with  sun-gleams  and 
pale  tearful  moon-gleams,  and  flickerings  of  a  celestial 
and  an  infernal  splendor,  was  this  that  now  opened 
for  him !  But  the  weather  is  wintry ;  and  the  toes  of 
the  man  are  looking  through  his  shoes.      His  muddy 

25  features  grow  of  a  purple  and  sea-green  color;  a 
flood  of  black  indignation  mantling  beneath.  A  truc- 
ulent, raw-boned  figure !  Meat  he  has  probably  little ; 
hope  he  has  less:  his  feet,  as  we  said,  have  come  into 
brotherhood  with  the  cold  mire. 

30  "  Shall  I  be  particular,"  inquires  Sir  John  Hawkins,  "  and 
relate  a  circumstance  of  his  distress,  that  cannot  be  imputed  to 
him  as  an  effect  of  his  own  extravagance  or  irregularity,  and  con- 


lo6  CARLYLE   ON 

sequently  reflects  no  disgrace  on  his  memory  ?  He  had  scarce 
any  change  of  raiment,  and,  in  a  short  time  after  Corbet  left  him, 
but  one  pair  of  shoes,  and  those  so  old  that  his  feet  were  seen 
through  them  :  a  gentleman  of  his  college,  the  father  of  an  emi- 
nent clergyman  now  living,  directed  a  servitor  one  morning  to  5 
place  a  new  pair  at  the  door  of  Johnson's  chamber  ;  who  seeing 
them  upon  his  first  going  out,  so  far  forgot  himself  and  the  spirit 
which  must  have  actuated  his  unknown  benefactor,  that,  with  all 
the  indignation  of  an  insulted  man,  he  threw  them  away." 

How  exceedingly  surprising! — The  Rev.  Dr.  Hall  lo 
remarks:    "As  far  as  we  can  judge  from  a  cursory  view 
of  the  weekly  account  in  the  buttery-books,  Johnson 
appears  to  have  lived  as  well  as  other  commoners  and 
scholars."     Alas!    such  ''cursory  view  of  the  buttery 
books,"  now  from  the  safe  distance  of  a  century,  in  15 
the  safe  chair  of  a  College  Mastership,  is  one  thing; 
the  continual  view  of  the  empty  (or  locked)  buttery  it- 
self was  quite  a  different  thing.     But  hear  our  Knight, 
how  he  farther  discourses.     "Johnson,"   quoth   Sir 
John,  "could  not  at  this  early  period  of  his  life  divest  20 
himself  of  an  idea  that  poverty  was  disgraceful;   and 
was  very  severe  in  his  censures  of  that  economy  in 
both   our   Universities,    which   exacted   at  meals    the 
attendance  of  poor  scholars,  under  the  several  denom- 
inations  of   Servitors   in   the   one,  and   Sizers   in   the  25 
other:  he  thought  that  the  scholar's,  like  the  Christian 
life,  levelled  all  distinctions  of  rank  and  worldly  pre- 
eminence;  but  in  this  he  was  mistaken  :  civil  polity," 
&c.,  &c. — Too  true!      It  is  man's  lot  to  err. 

However,    Destiny,    in   all   ways,    means    to   prove  30 
the  mistaken  Samuel,  and  see   what  stuff  is  in  him. 
He  must  leave  these  butteries  of  Oxford,  Want  like  an 
armed  man  compelling  him ;  retreat  into  his  father's 


BOSIVELVS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  107 

mean  home;  and  there  abandon  hunself  for  a  season 
to  inaction,  disappointment,  shame,  and  nervous  mel- 
ancholy nigh  run  mad  :  he  is  probably  the  wretchedest 
man    in   wide    England.     In  all    ways,  he    too   must 

5    "become  perfect  through  suffering^ — High  thoughts 
have   visited   him ;  his   College   Exercises  have  been 
praised  beyond   the  walls  of   College;   Pope   himself, 
has  seen  that  Trajishition^  and  approved  of  it:  Samuel 
had  whispered  to  himself:  I  too  am  "one  and  some- 

10 what."  False  thoughts;  that  leave  only  misery 
behind!  The  fever-fire  of  Ambition  is  too  painfully 
extinguished  (but  not  cured)  in  the  frost-bath  of 
Poverty.  Johnson  has  knocked  at  the  gate,  as  one 
having  a  right;  but  there  was  no  opening:  the  world 

15  lies  all  encircled  as  with  brass;  nowhere  can  he  find 
or  force  the  smallest  entrance.  An  ushership  at 
Market  Bosworth,  and  "a  disagreement  between  him 
and  Sir  Wolstan  Dixie,  the  patron  of  the  school," 
yields  him  bread  of  affliction  and  water  of  affliction; 

20  but  so  bitter,  that  unassisted  human  nature  cannot 
swallow  them.  Young  Samson  will  grind  no  more  in 
the  Philistine  mill  of  Bosworth;  quits  hold  of  Sir 
Wolstan,  and  the  "domestic  chaplaincy,  so  far  at  least 
as  to  say  grace  at  table,"  and  also  to  be  "treated  with 

25  what  he  represented  as  intolerable  harshness;"  and 
so,  after  "some  months  of  such  complicated  misery," 
feeling  doubtless  that  there  are  worse  things  in  the 
w^orld  than  quick  death  by  Famine,  "relinquishes  a 
situation,  which  all  his  life  afterwards  he  recollected 

30 with  the  strongest  aversion,  and  even  horror."  Men 
like  Johnson  are  properly  called  the  Forlorn  Hope  of 
the  world:  judge  whether  his  hope  was  forlorn. or  not. 


loS  CARLYLE    ON 

by  this  Letter  to  a  dull  oily  Printer  who  called  him- 
self Sylvanus   Urban  : 

"  Sir, — As  you  appear  no  less  sensible  than  your  readers  of  the 
defect  of  your  poetical  article,  you  will  not  be  displeased  if  (in 
order  to  the  improvement  of  it)  I  communicate  to  you  the  senti-    5 
ments  of  a  person  who  will  undertake,  on  reasonable  terms,  some- 
times to  fill  a  column. 

"  His  opinion  is,  that  the  public  would,"  &c.  &c. 

"  If  such  a  correspondence  will  be  agreeable  to  you,  be  pleased 
to  inform  me  in  two  posts  what  the  conditions  are  on  which  you  10 
shall  expect  it.     Your  late  offer  (for  a  Prize  Poem)  gives  me  no 
reason  to  distrust  your  generosity.     If  you  engage  in  any  literary 
projects  besides  this  paper,  I  have  other  designs  to  impart." 

Reader,  the  generous  person,  to  whom  this  Letter 
goes  addressed,  is  "Mr.  Edmund  Cave,  at  St.  John's  15 
Gate,  London;"  the  addresser  of  it  is  Samuel  John- 
son, in  Birmingham,  Warwickshire. 

Nevertheless,  Life  rallies  in  the  man ;   reasserts  its 
right  to  be  lived^  even    to   be    enjoyed.     "Better  a 
small    bush,"    say    the    Scotch,    "than  no   shelter:"  20 
Johnson  learns  to  be  contented  with  humble  human 
things ;  and  is  there  not   already   an  actual  realized 
human  Existence,  all  stirring  and  living  on  every  hand 
of  him?     Go  thou  and  do  likewise!      Iw   Birmingham 
itself,  with  his  own  purchased  goose-quill,  he  can  earn  25 
"five  pounds;"  nay,   finally,  the  choicest  terrestrial 
good:  a  Friend,  who  will  be  Wife  to  him!     Johnson's 
marriage  with  the  good  Widow  Porter  has  been  treated 
with  ridicule  by  many  mortals,  who  apparently  had 
no  understanding  thereof.     That  the  purblind,  seamy- 30 
faced   Wild-man,    stalking  lonely,    woe-stricken,    like 
some  Irish  Gallowglass  with  peeled  club,  whose  speech 


BOSVVELVS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  109 

no  man  knew,  whose  look  all  men  both  laughed  at 
and  shuddered  at,  should  find  any  brave  female  heart 
to  acknowledge,  at  first  -sight  and  hearing  of  him, 
"This  is  the  most  sensible  man  I  ever  met  with  ;"  and 

5  then,  with  generous  courage,  to  take  him  to  itself,  and 
say,  Be  thou  mine ;  be  thou  warmed  here,  and  thawed 
to  life! — in  all  this,  in  the  kind  Widow's  love  and  pity 
for  him,  in  Johnson's  love  and  gratitude,  there  is 
actually  no  matter  for  ridicule.     Their  wedded  life,  as 

10  is  the  common  lot,  was  made  up  of  drizzle  and  dry 
weather;  but  innocence  and  worth  dwelt  in  it;  and 
when  death  had  ended  it,  a  certain  sacredness:  John- 
son's deathless  affection  for  his  Tetty  was  always  ven- 
erable and  noble.     However,  be  all  this  as  it  might, 

15  Johnson  is  now  minded  to  wed ;  and  will  live  by  the 
trade  of  Pedagogy,  for  by  this  also  may  life  be  kept 
in.  Let  the  world  therefore  take  notice:  ''At  Edial 
near  Lichfield,  in  Staffordshire,  young  gentl email  are 
boarded,  and  taught  the  Latin  and  Greek  languages,  by 

20  Samuel  Johnson."  Had  this  Edial  enterprise  pros- 
pered, how  different  might  the  issue  have  been ! 
Johnson  had  lived  a  life  of  unnoticed  nobleness,  or 
swoln  into  some  amorphous  Dr.  Parr,  of  no  avail  to 
us;   Bozzy  would  have  dwindled   into    official    insig- 

25  nificance,  or  risen  by  some  other  elevation ;  old  Auch- 
inleck  had  never  been  afflicted  with  "ane  that  keeped 
a  schule,"  or  obliged  to  violate  hospitality  by  a: 
"Cromwell  do?  God,  sir,  he  gart  kings  ken  that 
there  was  a  lith  in  their  neck!"     But  the  Edial  enter- 

30 prise  did  not  prosper;  Destiny  had  other  work 
appointed  for  Samuel  Johnson  ;  and  young  gentlemen 
got  board  where  they  could  elsewhere  find  it.     This 


no  CARLYLE   ON 

man  was  to  become  a  Teacher  of  grown  gentlemen,  In 
the  most  surprising  way;  a  Man  of  Letters,  and  Ruler 
of  the  British  Nation  for  some  time, — not  of  their 
bodies  merely,  but  of  their  minds,  not  over  them,  but 
in  them,  5 

The  career  of  Literature  could  not,  in  Johnson's 
day,  any  more  than  now,  be  said  to  lie  along  the 
shores  of  a  Pactolus:  whatever  else  might  be  gathered 
there,  gold-dust  was  nowise  the  chief  produce.  The 
world,  from  the  times  of  Socrates,  St.  Paul,  and  far  lo 
earlier,  has  always  had  its  teachers;  and  always 
treated  them  in  a  peculiar  way.  A  shrewd  Townclerk 
(not  of  Ephesus),  once,  in  founding  a  Burgh-Semi- 
nary, when  the  question  came.  How  the  School- 
masters should  be  maintained?  delivered  this  brief  15 
counsel:  "D — n  them,  keep  them  poor !''  Consider- 
able wisdom  may  lie  in  this  aphorism.  At  all  events, 
we  see,  the  world  has  acted  on  it  long,  and  indeed 
improved  on  it, — putting  many  a  Schoolmaster  of  its 
great  Burgh-Seminary  to  a  death,  which  even  cost  it  20 
something.  The  world,  it  is  true,  had  for  some  time 
been  too  busy  to  go  out  of  its  way,  and  put  any  Au- 
thor to  death;  however,  the  old  sentence  pronounced 
against  them  was  found  to  be  pretty  sufficient.  The 
first  Writers  (being  Monks)  were  sworn  to  a  vow  of  25 
Poverty ;  the  modern  Authors  had  no  need  to  swear 
to  it.  This  was  the  epoch  when  an  Otway  could  still 
die  of  hunger;  not  to  speak  of  your  innumerable 
Scrogginses,  whom  "the  Muse  found  stretched  beneath 
a  rug,"  with  "rusty  grate  unconscious  of  a  fire,"  stock-  30 
ing-nightcap,  sanded  floor,  and  all   the  other  escutch- 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  m 

eons  of  the  craft,  time  out  of  mind  the  heirlooms 
of  Authorship.  Scroggins,  however,  seems  to  have 
been  but  an  idler;  not  at  all  so  diligent  as  worthy  Mr. 
Boyce,  whom  we  might  have  seen   sitting  up  in  bed, 

5  with  his  wearing-apparel  of  Blanket  about  him,  and 
a  hole  slit  in  the  same,  that  his  hand  might  be  at 
liberty  to  work  in  its  vocation.  The  worst  was,  that 
too  frequently  a  blackguard  recklessness  of  temper 
ensued,  incapable  of  turning  to  account  what  good  the 

logods  even  here  had  provided:  your  Boyces  acted  on 
some  stoico-epicurean  principle  of  carpe  diem^  as  men 
do  in  bombarded  towns,  and  seasons  of  raging  pesti- 
lence;— and  so  had  lost  not  only  their  life  and  pres- 
ence of  mind,  but  their  status  as  persons  of  respec- 

15  tability.  The  trade  of  Author  was  about  one  of  its 
lowest  ebbs  when  Johnson  embarked  on  it. 

Accordingly  we  find  no  mention  of  Illuminations 
in  the  city  of  London  when  this  same  Ruler  of  the 
British   nation    arrived   in   it:    no    cannon-salvos   are 

20  fired ;  no  flourish  of  drums  and  trumpets  greets  his 
appearance  on  the  scene.  He  enters  quite  quietly, 
with  some  copper  halfpence  in  his  pocket ;  creeps 
into  lodgings  in  Exeter  Street,  Strand;  and  has  a 
Coronation   Pontiff  also,  of  not  less  peculiar   equip- 

25  ment,  whom,  with  all  submissiveness,  he  must  wait 
upon,  in  his  Vatican  of  St.  John's  Gate.  This  is  the 
dull  oily  Printer  alluded  to  above. 

"  Cave's  temper,"  says  our  Knight  Hawkins,  "  was  phlegmatic  : 

though  he  assumed,  as  the  publisher  of  the  Magazine,  the  name 

30  of  Sylvanus  Urban,  he  had  few  of  those  qualities  that  constitute 

urbanity.     Judge  of  his  want  of  them  by  this  question,  which  he 

once  put  to  an  author  :   '  Mr. ,  I  hear  you  have  just  published 


112  CARLYLE   OAT 

a  pamphlet,  and  am  told  there  is  a  very  good  paragraph  in  it,  upon 
the  subject  of  music  :  did  you  write  that  yourself  ?  '  His  discern- 
ment was  also  slow  ;  and  as  he  had  already  at  his  command  some 
writers  of  prose  and  verse,  who,  in  the  language  of  Booksellers, 
are  called  good  hands,  he  was  the  backwarder  in  making  advances,  5 
or  courting  an  intimacy  with  Johnson.  Upon  the  first  approach 
of  a  stranger,  his  practice  was  to  continue  sitting  ;  a  posture  in 
which  he  was  ever  to  be  found,  and  for  a  few  minutes  to  continue 
silent  :  if  at  any  time  he  was  inclined  to  begin  the  discourse,  it 
was  generally  by  putting  a  leaf  of  the  Magazine,  then  in  the  press,  lO 
into  the  hand  of  his  visitor,  and  asking  his  opinion  of  it,    .    .    . 

"  He  was  so  incompetent  a  judge  of  Johnson's  abilities,  that 
meaning  at  one  time  to  dazzle  him  with  the  splendor  of  some  of 
those  luminaries  in  Literature,  who  favored  him  with  their  corre- 
spondence, he  told  him  that  if  he  would,  in  the  evening,  be  at  a  15 
certain  alehouse  in  the  neighborhood  of  Clerkenwell,  he  might 
have  a  chance  of  seeing  Mr.  Browne  and  another  or  two  of  those 
illustrious  contributors  :  Johnson  accepted  the  invitation ;  and 
being  introduced  by  Cave,  dressed  in  a  loose  horseman's  coat,  and 
such  a  great  bushy  wig  as  he  constantly  wore,  to  the  sight  of  Mr.  20 
Browne,  whom  he  found  sitting  at  the  upper  end  of  a  long  table, 
in  a  cloud  of  tobacco-smoke,  had  his  curiosity  gratified." — Haw- 
kins,  46-50. 

In  fact,  if  we  look  seriously  into  the  condition  of 
Authorship  at  that  period,  we  shall  find  that  Johnson  25 
had  undertaken  one  of  the  ruggedest  of  all  possible 
enterprises;  that  here  as  elsewhere  Fortune  had  given 
him  unspeakable  Contradictions  to  reconcile.  For  a 
man  of  Johnson's  stamp,  the  Problem  was  twofold: 
First,  not  only  as  the  humble  but  indispensable  con-  30 
dition  of  all  else,  to  keep  himself,  if  so  might  be,  alive; 
but  secondly,  to  keep  himself  alive  by  speaking  forth 
the  Truth  that  was  in  him,  and  speaking  it  trttly,  that 
is,  in  the  clearest  and  fittest  utterance  the  Heavens 
had  enabled  him  to  give  it,  let  the  Earth  say  to  this 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE  OF  JOIINSOiY.  113 

what  she  liked.  Of  which  twofold  Problem  if  it  be 
hard  to  solve  either  member  separately,  how  incalcu- 
lably more  so  to  solve  it,  when  both  are  conjoined,  and 
work  with  endless  complication  into  one  another!      He 

5  that  finds  himself  already  kept  alive  can  sometimes 
(unhappily  not  always)  speak  a  little  truth;  he  that 
finds  himself  able  and  willing,  to  all  lengths,  to  speak 
lies^  may,  by  watching  how  the  wind  sits,  scrape 
together  a  livelihood,    sometimes  of  great   splendor: 

10  he,  again,  who  finds  himself  provided  with  neither 
endowment,  has  but  a  ticklish  game  to  play,  and  shall 
have  praises  if  he  win  it.  Let  us  look  a  little  at 
both  faces  of  the  matter;  and  see  what  front  they 
then  offered  our  Adventurer,  what  front  he  offered 

15  them. 

At  the  time  of  Johnson's  appearance  on  the  field, 
Literature,  in  many  senses,  was  in  a  transitional 
state;  chiefly  in  this  sense,  as  respects  the  pecuniary 
subsistence  of  its  cultivators.      It  was  in  the  very  act 

20  of  passing  from  the  protection  of  patrons  into  that  ot^ 
the   Public;    no   longer    to  supply  its   necessities  by 
laudatory  Dedications  to  the  Great,  but  by  judicious 
Bargains  with  the  Booksellers.     This  happy  change 
has  been  much  sung  and  celebrated  ;   many  a  "lord  of 

25  the  lion  heart  and  eagle  eye"  looking  back  with  scorn 
enough  on  the  bygone  system  of  Dependency:  so  that 
now  it  were  perhaps  well  to  consider,  for  a  moment, 
what  good  might  also  be  in  it,  what  gratitude  we  owe 
it.     That  a  good   was   in    it,   admits   not    of    doubt. 

30 Whatsoever  has  existed  has  had  its  value:  without 
some  truth  and  worth  lying  in  it,  the  thing  could  not 
have  hung  together,  and  been   the  organ  and   suste- 


114  CARLYLE   ON 

nance  and  method  of  action  for  men  that  reasoned  and 
were  alive.  Translate  a  Falsehood  which  is  wholly 
false  into  Practice,  the  result  comes  out  zero;  there 
is  no  fruit  or  issue  to  be  derived  from  it.  That  in  an 
age,  when  a  Nobleman  was  still  noble,  still  with  his  5 
wealth  the  protector  of  worthy  and  humane  things, 
and  still  venerated  as  such,  a  poor  Man  of  Genius,  his 
brother  in  nobleness,  should,  with  unfeigned  rev- 
erence, address  him  and  say:  "I  have  found  Wisdom 
here,  and  would  fain  proclaim  it  abroad;  wilt  thou,  10 
of  thy  abundance,  afford  me  the  means?" — in  all  this 
there  was  no  baseness ;  it  was  wholly  an  honest  pro- 
posal, which  a  free  man  might  make,  and  a  free  man 
listen  to.  So  might  a  Tasso,  with  a  Gerusalemme  in 
his  hand  or  in  his  head,  speak  to  a  Duke  of  Ferrara ;  15 
so  might  a  Shakspeare  to  his  Southampton ;  and 
Continental  Artists  generally  to  their  rich  Protec- 
tors,— in  some  countries,  down  almost  to  these  days. 
It  was  only  when  the  reverence  became  feigned, 
that  baseness  entered  into  the  transaction  on  both  20 
sides ;  and,  indeed,  flourished  there  with  rapid  lux- 
uriance, till  that  became  disgraceful  for  a  Dryden 
which  a  Shakespeare  could  once  practise  without 
offence. 

Neither,  it  is  very  true,  was  the  new  way  of  Book-  25 
seller  Maecenasship  worthless;  which  opened  itself  at 
this  juncture,  for  the  most  important  of  all  transport- 
trades,  now  when  the  old  way  had  become  too  miry 
and  impossible.  Remark,  moreover,  how  this  second 
sort  of  Maecenasship,  after  carrying  us  through  nearly  30 
a  century  of  Literary  Time,  appears  now  to  have  well- 
nigh  discharged  its  function  also ;   and  to  be  working 


BOSWELVS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  115 

pretty  rapidly  toward  some  third  method,  the  exact 
conditions  of  which  are  yet  nowise  visible.  Thus  all 
things  have  their  end;  and  we  should  part  with  them 
all,    not    in    anger,    but    in   peace.      The    Bookseller 

5  System,  during  its  peculiar  century,  the  whole  of  the 
eighteenth,  did  carry  us  handsomely  along;  and  many 
good  Works  it  has  left  us,  and  many  good  Men  it 
maintained:  if  it  is  now  expiring  by  Puffery,  as  the 
Patronage   System   did   by   Flattery    (for  Lying  is 

10 ever  the  forerunner  of  Death,  nay,  is  itself  Death),  let 
us  not  forget  its  benefits;  how  it  nursed  Literature 
through  boyhood  and  school-years,  as  Patronage  had 
wrapped  it  in  soft  swaddling-bands; — till  now  we  see 
it  about  to  put  on  the  toga  virilis^  could  it  but  ^/z^/ any 

15  such ! 

There  is  tolerable  travelling  on  the  beaten  road,  run 
how  it  may ;  only  on  the  new  road  not  yet  levelled 
and  paved,  and  on  the  old  road  all  broken  into  ruts 
and  quagmires,  is  the  travelling  bad  or  impracticable. 

20  The  difficulty  lies  always  in  the  transition  from  one 
method  to  another.  In  which  state  it  was  that  John- 
son now  found  Literature;  and  out  of  which,  let  us 
also  say,  he  manfully  carried  it.  What  remarkable 
mortal  first  paid  copyright  in  England  we  have   not 

25  ascertained;  perhaps,  for  almost  a  century  before, 
some  scarce  visible  or  ponderable  pittance  of  wages 
had  occasionally  been  yielded  by  the  Seller  of  books  to 
the  Writer  of  them:  the  original  Covenant,  stipulating 
to  produce  Paradise  Lost  on   the  one  hand,  and  Five 

yi  Pounds  Sterling  on  the  other,  still  lies  (we  have  been 
told)  in  black-on-white,  for  inspection  and  purchase 
by  the   curious,    at   a   Bookshop   in  Chancery   Lane. 


Il6  CARLYLE   OJSr 

Thus  had  the  matter  gone  on,  in  a  mixed  confused 
way,  for  some  threescore  years; — as  ever,  in  such 
things,  the  old  system  overlaps  the  new,  by  some  gen- 
eration or  two,  and  only  dies  quite  out  when  the  new 
has  got  a  complete  organization  and  weather-worthy  5 
surface  of  its  own.  Among  the  first  Authors,  the  very 
first  of  any  significance,  who  lived  by  the  day's  wages 
of  his  craft,  and  composedly  faced  the  world  on  that 
basis,  was  Samuel  Johnson. 

At  the  time  of  Johnson's  appearance  there  were  still  10 
two  ways  on  which  an  Author  might  attempt  proceed- 
ing: there  were   the   Maecenases   proper  in  the  West 
End   of   London ;   and  the  Maecenases  virtual  of   St. 
John's  Gate  and  Paternoster  Row.     To  a  considerate 
man  it  might  seem  uncertain  which  method  were   the  15 
preferable:    neither   had  very   high    attractions;    the 
Patron's  aid  was  now  well-nigh   7iecessarily  polluted 
by  sycophancy,  before  it   could   come  to  hand:    the 
Bookseller's    was    deformed    with    greedy    stupidity, 
not  to  say  entire  wooden-headedness  and  disgust  (so  20 
that  an  Osborne  even  required  to  be  knocked   down 
by  an  Author  of  spirit),  and  could  barely  keep  the 
thread  of  Ufe  together.     The  one  was  the  wages  of 
suffering   and  poverty;    the  other,   unless  you  gave 
strict  heed  to  it,  the  wages  of  sin.      In  time,  Johnson  25 
had  opportunity  of  looking  into   both   methods,  and 
ascertaining  what  they  were;   but  found,  at  first  trial, 
that  the  former  would  in  nowise  do  for  him.      Listen, 
once  again,   to   that   far-famed   Blast   of   Doom,  pro- 
claiming  into   the   ear   of    Lord    Chesterfield,    and,  30 
through  him,  of   the   listening  world,  that   Patronage 
should  be  no  more! 


BOSWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  117 

"  Seven  years,  my  Lord,  have  now  past,  since  I  waited  in  your 
outward  rooms,  or  was  repulsed  from  your  door  ;  during  which 
time  I  have  been  pushing  on  my  Work'  through  difficulties,  of 
which  it  is  useless  to  complain,  and  have  brought  it  at  last  to  the 
5  verge  of  publication,  without  one  act  of  assistance, "•^  one  word  of 
encouragement,  or  one  smile  of  favor. 

"  The  shepherd  in  Virgil  grew  at  last  acquainted  with  Love,  and 
found  him  a  native  of  the  rocks. 

"  Is  not  a  patron,  my  Lord,  one  who  looks  with  unconcern  on  a 
10  man  struggling  for  life  in  the  water,  and  when  he  has  reached 
ground,  encumbers  him  with  help  ?  The  notice  which  you  have 
been  pleased  to  take  of  my  labors,  had  it  been  early,  had  been 
kind  ;  but  it  has  been  delayed  till  I  am  indifferent  and  cannot 
enjoy  it ;  till  I  am  solitary  and  cannot  impart  it ;  till  I  am  known 
15  and  do  not  want  it.  I  hope  it  is  no  very  cynical  asperity  not  to 
confess  obligations  where  no  benefit  has  been  received,  or  to  be 
unwilling  that  the  public  should  consider  me  as  owing  that  to  a 
patron  which  Providence  has  enabled  me  to  do  for  myself. 

"  Having  carried  on  my  Work  thus  far  with  so  little  obligation 

20  to  any  favorer  of  learning,  I   shall  not  be  disappointed  though  I 

should  conclude  it,  if  less  be  possible,  with  less  ;  for  I  have  long 

been  awakened  from  that  dream  of  hope  in  which  I  once  boasted 

myself  with  so  much  exaltation, 

"  My   Lord,    your   Lordship's   most    humble,    most    obedient 
25  servant, 

"  Sam.  Johnson." 

And  thus  must  the  rebellious  "Sam.  Johnson"  turn 
him  to  the  Bookselling  guild,  and  the  wondrous  chaos 
of  "Author  by  trade;"  and,  though  ushered  into  it 
30  only  by  that  dull  oily  Printer,  "with  loose  horseman's 
coat  and  such  a  great  bushy  wig  as  he  constantly  wore," 

'  The  English  Dictionary. 

2  Were  time  and  printer's  space  of  no  value,  it  were  easy  to 
wash  away  certain  foolish  soot-stains  dropped  here  as  "  Notes  ;  " 
especially  two  :  the  one  on  this  word  and  on  Boswell's  Note  to  it  ; 


Il8  CARLYLE   ON 

and  only  as  subaltern  to  some  commanding  officer 
"Browne,  sitting  amid  tobacco-smoke  at  the  head  of 
a  long  table  in  the  alehouse  at  Clerkenwell," — gird 
himself  together  for  the  warfare;  having  no  alterna- 
tive !  5 

Little  less  contradictory  was  that  other  branch  of 
the  twofold  Problem  now  set  before  Johnson:  the 
speaking  forth  of  Truth.  Nay,  taken  by  itself,  it  had 
in  those  days  become  so  complex  as  to  puzzle  strongest 
heads,  with  nothing  else  imposed  on  them  for  solu-  lo 
tion ;  and  even  to  turn  high  heads  of  that  sort  into 
mere  hollow  vizards^  speaking  neither  truth  nor  false- 
hood, nor  any  thing  but  what  the  Prompter  and  Player 
(vTtoHpiri)^)  put  into  them.  Alas !  for  poor  Johnson, 
Contradiction  abounded ;  in  spirituals  and  in  tem- 15 
porals,  within  and  without.  Born  with  the  strongest 
unconquerable  love  of  just  Insight,  he  must  begin  to 
live  and  learn  in  a  scene  where  Prejudice  flourishes 
with  rank  luxuriance.  England  was  all  confused 
enough,  sightless  and  yet  restless,  take  it  where  you  20 
would;  but  figure  the  best  intellect  in  England  nursed 
up  to  manhood  in  the  idol-cavern  of  a  poor  Trades- 
man's house,  in  the  cathedral  city  of  Lichfield !  What 
is  Truth?  said  jesting  Pilate ;  What  is  Tfuth?  might 
earnest  Johnson  much  more  emphatically  say.  Truth,  25 
no  longer,  like  the  Phoenix,  in  rainbow  plumage, 
"poured,    from    her    glittering   beak,    such    tones    of 

the  other  on  the  paragraph  which  follows.     Let  "  Ed."  look  a 
second  time  ;  he  will  find  that  Johnson's  sacred  regard  for  T-tuth 
is  the  only  thing  to  be  "  noted  "  in  the  former  case  ;  also,  in   the  30 
latter,  that  this  of  "  Love's  being  a  native  of  the  rocks"  actually 
has  a  "  meaning." 


BOSWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  119 

sweetest  melody  as  took  captive  every  ear:"  the 
Phoenix  (waxing  old)  had  well-nigh  ceased  her  sing- 
ing, and  empty  wearisome  Cuckoos,  and  doleful 
monotonous  Owls,  innumerable  Jays  also,  and  twitter- 

5  ing  Sparrows  on  the  housetops,  pretended  they  were 
repeating  her. 

It  was  wholly  a  divided  age,  that  of  Johnson ;  Unity 
existed  no  where,  in  its  Heaven,  or  in  its  Earth, 
Society,   through   every    fibre,  was   rent  asunder;   all 

10  things,  it  was  then  becoming  visible,  but  could  not 
then  be  understood,  were  moving  onwards,  with  an 
impulse  received  ages  before,  yet  now  first  with  a 
decisive  rapidity,  towards  that  great  chaotic  gulf, 
where,  whether  in  the  shape  of  French   Revolutions, 

15  Reform  Bills,  or  what  shape  soever,  bloody  or  blood- 
less, the  descent  and  engulfment  assume,  we  now  see 
them  weltering  and  boiling.  Already  Cant,  as  once 
before  hinted,  had  begun  to  play  its  wonderful  part 
(for  the  hour  was  come):    two   ghastly   apparitions, 

20  unreal  simulacra  both.  Hypocrisy  and  Atheism  are 
already,  in  silence,  parting  the  world.  Opinion  and 
Action,  which  should  live  together  as  wedded  pair, 
"one  flesh,"  more  properly  as  Soul  and  Body,  have 
commenced  their  open  quarrel,  and  are  suing  for  a 

25  separate  maintenance, — as  if  they  could  exist  sepa- 
rately. To  the  earnest  mind,  in  any  position,  firm 
footing  and  a  life  of  Truth  was  becoming  daily  more 
difficult:  in  Johnson's  position  it  was  more  difficult 
than  in  almost  any  other. 

30  If,  as  for  a  devout  nature  was  inevitable  and  indis- 
pensable, he  looked  up  to  Religion,  as  to  the  pole-star 
of  his   voyage,  already   there   was  no  fixed  pole-star  U 


I20  CARLYLE   ON 

any  longer  visible;  but  two  stars,  a  whole  constella- 
tion of  stars,  each  proclaiming  itself  as  the  true. 
There  was  the  red  portentous  comet-star  of  Infidelity; 
the  dimmer-burning  and  dimmer  fixed-star  (uncertain 
now  whether  not  an  atmospheric  meteor)  of  orthodoxy:  5 
which  of  these  to  choose?  The  keener  intellects  of 
Europe  had,  almost  without  exception,  ranged  them- 
selves under  the  former;  for  some  half  century,  it  had 
been  the  general  effort  of  European  Speculation  to 
proclaim  that  Destruction  of  falsehood  was  the  only  10 
Truth  ;  daily  had  Denial  waxed  stronger  and  stronger, 
Belief  sunk  more  and  more  into  decay.  From  our 
Bolingbrokes  and  Tolands  the  sceptical  fever  had 
passed  into  France,  into  Scotland;  and  already  it 
smouldered,  far  and  wide,  secretly  eating  out  the  15 
heart  of  England.  Bayle  had  played  his  part ;  Vol- 
taire, on  a  wider  theatre,  was  playing  his, — Johnson's 
senior  by  some  fifteen  years:  Hume  and  Johnson 
were  children  almost  of  the  same  year.  To  this  keener 
order  of  intellects  did  Johnson's  indisputably  belong;  20 
was  he  to  join  them;  was  he  to  oppose  them?  A 
complicated  question :  for,  alas !  the  Church  itself  is 
no  longer,  even  to  him,  wholly  of  true  adamant,  but 
of  adamant  and  baked  mud  conjoined:  the  zealously 
Devout  must  find  his  Church  tottering;  and  pause  25 
amazed  to  see,  instead  of  inspired  Priest,  many  a 
swine-feeding  Trulliber  ministering  at  her  altar.  It 
is  not  the  least  curious  of  the  incoherences  which 
Johnson  had  to  reconcile,  that,  though  by  nature 
contemptuous  and  incredulous,  he  was,  at  that  time  30 
of  day,  to  find  his  safety  and  glory  in  defending,  with 
his  whole  might,  the  traditions  of  the  elders. 


BOSWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  12 1 

Not  less  perplexingly   intricate,  and  on  both  sides 
hollow  or  questionable,  was    the   aspect   of   Pojitics^^ 
Whigs    struggling    blindly    forward,    Tories    holding 
blindly  back;  each  with  some  forecast  of  a  half  truth; 

5  neither  with  any  forecast  of  the  whole!  Admire  here 
this  other  Contradiction  in  the  life  of  Johnson ;  that, 
though  the  most  ungovernable,  and  in  practice  the 
most  independent  of  men,  he  must  be  a  Jacobite, 
and  worshipper  of  the  Divine  Right.     In  politics  also 

10  there  are  Irreconcilables  enough  for  him.     As  indeed 
how  could  it  be  otherwise?     For  when  religion  is  torn 
asunder,  and  the  very  heart  of  man's   existence   set 
against   itself,    then   in    all    subordinate    departments  ^ 
there  must  needs  be  hollowness,  incoherence.     The 

15  English  Nation  had  rebelled  against  a  Tyrant;  and, 
by  the  hands  of  religious  tyrannicides,  exacted  stern 
vengeance  of  him:  Democracy  had  risen  iron-sinewed, 
and,  "like  an  infant  Hercules,  strangled  serpents  in 
its  cradle."     But  as  yet  none  knew  the  meaning  or 

20  extent  of  the  phenomenon:  Europe  was  not  ripe  for 
it;  not  to  be  ripened  for  it  but  by  the  culture  and 
various  experience  of  another  century  and  a  half. 
And  now,  when  the  King-killers  were  all  swept  away, 
and  a  milder  second  picture  was  painted  over  the  can- 

25  vass  of  \\\^  first ^  and  betitled  "Glorious  Revolution," 
who  doubted  but  the  catastrophe  was  over,  the  whole 
business  finished,  and  Democracy  gone  to  its  long 
sleep?  Yet  was  it  like  a  business  finished  and  not 
finished;  a  lingering  uneasiness  dwelt   in   all   minds: 

30  the  deep-lying,  resistless  Tendency,  which  had  still  to 
be  obeyed^  could  no  longer  be  recognized  j  thus  was 
there  half-ness,  insincerity,  uncertainty  in  men's  ways ; 


122  CARLYLE    ON 

instead  of  heroic  Puritans  and  heroic  Cavaliers,  came 
now  a  dawdling  set  of  argumentative  Whigs,  and  a 
dawdling  set  of  deaf-eared  Tories;  each  half-foolish, 
each  half-false.  The  Whigs  were  false  and  without 
basis;  inasmuch  as  their  whole  object  was  Resistance,  5 
Criticism,  Demolition, — they  knew  not  why,  or  towards 
what  issue.  In  Whiggism,  ever  since  a  Charles  and 
his  Jeffries  had  ceased  to  meddle  with  it,  and  to  have 
any  Russel  or  Sidney  to  meddle  with,  there  could  be 
no  divineness  of  character;  nor  till,  in  these  latter  10 
days,  it  took  the  figure  of  a  thorough-going,  all-defy- 
ing Radicalism,  was  there  any  solid  footing  for  it  to 
stand  on.  Of  the  like  uncertain,  half-hollow  nature 
had  Toryism  become,  in  Johnson's  time;  preaching 
forth  indeed  an  everlasting  truth,  the  duty  of  Loyalty;  15 
yet  now  (ever  since  the  final  expulsion  of  the  Stuarts) 
having  no  Person^  but  only  an  Office  to  be  loyal  to; 
no  living  Soul  to  worship,  but  only  a  dead  velvet- 
cushioned  Chah'.  Its  attitude,  therefore,  was  stiff- 
necked  refusal  to  move;  as  that  of  Whiggism  was  20 
clamorous  command  to  move, — let  rhyme  and  reason, 
on  both  hands,  say  to  it  what  they  might.  The  con- 
sequence was:  Immeasurable  floods  of  contentious 
jargon,  tending  nowhither;  false  conviction;  false 
resistance  to  conviction  ;  decay  (ultimately  to  become  25 
decease)  of  whatsoever  was  once  understood  by  the 
words  Principle  or  Honesty  of  heart;  the  louder  triumph 
of  Half-xiQss  and  Plausibility  over  JVliole-ness  and 
Truth; — at  last,  this  all-overshadowing  efflorescence 
of  Quackery,  which  we  now  see,  with  all  its  deaden-  30 
ing  and  killing  fruits,  in  all  its  innumerable  branches, 
down    to    the    lowest.      How,    between   these    jarring 


BOS  WELL  S  L  TFE   OF  JOHNSON.  1 2 3 

extremes,  wherein  the  rotten  lay  so  inextricably  inter- 
mingled with  the  sound,  and  as  yet  no  eye  could  see 
through   the   ulterior  meaning   of   the   matter,  was   a 

.     faithful  and  true  man  to  adjust  himself? 

5  That  Johnson,  in  spite  of  all  drawbacks,  adopted 
the  Conservative  side;  stationed  himself  as  the  unyield- 
ing opponent  of  Innovation,  resolute  to  hold  fast  the 
form  of  sound  words,  could  not  but  increase,  in  no 
small  measure,  the  difficulties  he  had  to  strive  with. 

10 We  mean  the  moral  difficulties;  for  in  economical 
respects,  it  might  be  pretty  equally  balanced;  the 
Tory  servants  of  the  Public  had  perhaps  about  the 
same  chance  of  promotion  as  the  Whig:  and  all  the 
promotion  Johnson  aimed  at  was  the  privilege  to  live. 

15  But,  for  what,  though  unavowed,  was  no  less  indis- 
pensable, for  his  peace  of  conscience,  and  the  clear 
ascertainment  and  feeling  of  his  Duty  as  an  inhabitant 
of  God's  world,  the  case  was  hereby  rendered  much 
more  complex.     To  resist  Innovation  is  easy  enough 

20  on  one  condition:  that  you  resist  Inquiry.     This  is, 
and   was,    the    common   expedient   of   your   common 
Conservatives;  but  it  would  not  do  for  Johnson:  he 
was  a  zealous  recommender  and  practiser  of  Inqujj:yL;„ 
once  for  all,  could  not  and  would  not  believe,  much 

25  less  speak  and  act,  a  Falsehood:  the /^rw  of  sound 
words,  which  he  held  fast,  must  have  a  meaiwig  in  it. 
Here  lay  the  difficulty:  to  behold  a  portentous  mix- 
ture of  True  and  False,  and  feel  that  he  must  dwell 
and  fight  there ;   yet  to  love  and  defend  only  the  True. 

30  How  worship,  when  you  cannot  and  will  not  be  an 
idolater ;  yet  cannot  help  discerning  that  the  Symbol 
of  your  Divinity  has  half  become  idolatrous?     This 


124  CARLYLE    ON 

was  the  question,  which  Johnson,  the  man  both  of  clear 
eye  and  devout  believing  heart,  must  answer, — at  peril 
of  his  life.     The  Whig  or  Sceptic,  on  the  other  hand, 
had  a  much  simpler  part  to  play.      To  him  only  the 
idolatrous  side  of  things,  nowise  the  divine  one,  lay   5 
visible :   not  worships  therefore,  nay  in  the  strict  sense 
not  heart-honesty,  only  at  most  lip-  and  hand-honesty, 
is  required  of  him.     What   spiritual   force   is  his,  he 
can  conscientiously  employ  in  the  work  of   cavilling, 
of   pulling  down   what   is   False.     For  the  rest,  that  10 
there  is  or  can  be  any  Truth  of  a  higher  than  sensual 
nature,  has  not  occurred  to  him.     The  utmost,  there- 
fore, that  he  as  man  has  to  aim  at,  is  Respectability, 
the   suffrages  of  his   fellow-men.      Such  suffrages  he 
may  weigh  as  well  as  count;  or  count  only:  according  15 
as    he  is   a    Burke,  or  a  Wilkes.     But  beyond   these 
there  lies  nothing  divine  for  him;   these  attained,  all 
is   attained.     Thus  is   his   whole   world   distinct   and 
rounded  in ;   a  clear   goal  is  set  before  him ;   a  firm 
path,    rougher    or  smoother;  at   Avorst   a  firm   region  20 
wherein  to  seek  a  path:  let  him  gird  up  his  loins,  and 
travel  on  without  misgivings!      For  the  honest  Con- 
servative, again,  nothing  is  distinct,  nothing  rounded 
in:    Respectability     can    nowise    be    his    highest 
Godhead;   not  one  aim,  but  two  conflicting  aims  to  25 
be   continually    reconciled   by   him,  has   he   to   strive 
after.     A  difficult  position,  as  we  said;   which  accord- 
ingly   the    most    did,    even    in    those    days,  but   half 
defend, — by  the  surrender,  namely,  of  their  own  too 
cumbersome   honesty^    or    even    understanding  j  after  30 
which  the  completest  defence  was  worth  little.     Into 
this    difficult   position    Johnson,    nevertheless,   threw 


BOSWELVS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.^  125 

himself:  found  it  indeed  full  of  difficulties;  yet  held 
it  out  manfully  as  an  honest-hearted,  open-sighted 
man,  while  life  was  in  him. 

Such  was  that  same  "twofold  Problem"  set  before 
5    Samuel  Johnson.     Consider  all  these  moral   difficul- 
ties; and  add  to  them  the  fearful  aggravation,  which 
lay  in  that  other  circumstance,  that  he  needed  a  con- 
tinual appeal  to  the  Public,  must  continually  produce 
a  certain  impression   and   conviction   on   the  Public; 
10  that  if  he  did  not,  he  ceased  to  have  "provision  for 
the  day  that  was  passing  over  him,"  he  could  not  any 
longer  live !     How  a  vulgar  character  once  launched 
into  this  wild  element;  driven  onwards  by  Fear  and 
Famine;  without  other  aim  than  to  clutch  what  Prov- 
15  ender  (of  Enjoyment  in  any  kind)  he  could  get,  always 
if  possible  keeping  quite  clear  of  the  Gallows  and  Pillory 
(that  is  to  say,  minding  heedfully  both  "person"  and 
"character"), — would  have  floated  hither  and  thither 
in  it;  and  contrived  to  eat  some  three  repasts  daily, 
20  and  wear  some  three  suits  yearly,  and  then  to  depart 
and  disappear,  having  consumed  his  last  ration :   all 
this  might  be    worth   knowing,   but    were  in  itself  a 
trivial  knowledge.      How   a  noble  man,  resolute   for 
the  Truth,  to  whom  Shams  and  Lies  were  once  for  all 
25  an  abomination, — was  to  act  init:  here  lay  the  mys- 
tery.     By  what    methods,   by  what  gifts  of  eye  and 
hand,  does  a  heroic  Samuel  Johnson,  now  when  cast 
forth  into  that  waste  Chaos  of  Authorship,  maddest  of 
things,  a  mingled  Phlegethon  and  Fleet-ditch,  with  its 
30  floating  lumber,  and  sea-krakens,  and  mud-spectres, — 
shape  himself  a  voyage;   of  the  transient  driftwood, 
and  the  enduring  iron,  build  him  a  seaworthy  Life- 


126  CARLYLE   ON 

boat,  and  sail  therein,  undrowned,  unpolluted,  through 
the  roaring  "mother  of  dead  dogs,"  onwards  to  an 
eternal  Landmark,  and  City  that  hath  foundations? 
This  high  question  is  even  the  one  answered  in  Bos- 
well's  Book;  which  Book  we  therefore,  not  so  falsely,  5 
have  named  a  Heroic  Foeui  ;  for  in  it  there  lies  the 
whole  argument  of  such.  Glory  to  our  brave  Samuel! 
He  accomplished  this  wonderful  Problem ;  and  now 
through  long  generations  we  point  to  him,  and  say: 
Here  also  was  a  Man;  let  the  world  once  more  have  10 
assurance  of  a  Man! 

Had  there  been  in  Johnson,  now  when  afloat  on 
that  confusion  worse  confounded  of  grandeur  and 
squalor,  no  light  but  an  earthly  outward  one,  he  too 
must  have  made  shipwreck.  With  his  diseased  body,  15 
and  vehement  voracious  heart,  how  easy  for  him  to 
become  a  carpe-diein  Philosopher,  like  the  rest,  and 
live  and  die  as  miserably  as  any  Boyce  of  that  Brother- 
hood! But  happily  there  was  a  higher  light  for  him; 
shining  as  a  lamp  to  his  path;  which,  in  all  paths,  20 
would  teach  him  to  act  and  walk  not  as  a  fool,  but 
as  wise,  and  in  those  evil  days  also,  "redeeming  the 
time."  Under  dimmer  or  clearer  manifestations,  a 
Truth  had  been  revealed  to  him:  I  also  am  a  Man; 
even  in  this  unutterable  element  of  Authorship,  I  may  25 
live  as  beseems  a  Man!  That  Wrong  is  not  only 
different  from  Right,  but  that  it  is  in  strict  scientific 
terms  infinitely  different ;  even  as  the  gaining  of  the 
whole  world  set  against  the  losing  of  one's  own  soul, 
or  (as  Johnson  had  it)  a  Heaven  set  against  a  Hell;  30 
that  in  all  situations  (out  of  the  Pit  of  Tophet),  wherein 
a  living  Man  has  stood  or  can  stand,  there  is  actually 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  127 

a  Pnze_of  quite  infinite  value  placed  within  his  reach, 
namely,  a  Duiy_S'^'^  ^^^^  ^^  ^<^'  ^^^'^^  highest  Gospel, 
which  forms  the  basis  and  worth  of  all  other  Gospels 
whatsoever,  had  been   revealed  to  Samuel  Johnson ; 

5  and  the  man  had  believed  it,  and  laid  it  faithfully  to 
heart.  Such  knowledge  of  the  transcendental^  im- 
measurable character  of  Duty  we  call  the  basis  of  all 
Gospels,  the  essence  of  all  Religion:  he  who  with  his 
whole  soul  knows  not  this  as  yet  knows  nothing,  as 

10  yet  is  properly  nothing. 

This,  happily  for  him,  Johnson  was  one  of  those 
that  knew;  under  a  certain  authentic  Symbol  it  stood 
forever  present  to  his  eyes:  a  Symbol,  indeed,  waxing 
old  as  doth  a  garment;  yet  which  had  guided  forward 

15  as  their  Banner  and  celestial  Pillar  of  Fire,  innumer- 
able saints  and  witnesses,  the  fathers  of  our  modern 
world;  and  for  him  also  had  still  a  sacred  significance. 
It  does  not  appear  that  at  any  time  Johnson  was  what 
we  call  irreligious :   but  in  his  sorrows  and  isolation, 

20  when  hope  died  away,  and  only  a  long  vista  of  suffer- 
ing and  toil  lay  before  him  to  the  end,  then  first  did 
Religion  shine  forth  in  its  meek,  everlasting  clearness; 
even  as  the  stars  do  in  black  night,  which  in  the  day- 
time and  dusk  were  hidden  by  inferior  lights.      How 

25  a  true  man,  in  the  midst  of  errors  and  uncertainties, 
shall  work  out  for  himself  a  sure  Life-truth ;  and 
adjusting  the  transient  to  the  eternal,  amid  the  frag- 
ments of  ruined  Temples  build  up,  with  toil  and  pain, 
a  little    Altar   for   himself,  and   worship   there;   how 

30  Samuel  Johnson,  in  the  era  of  Voltaire,  can  purify 
and  fortify  his  soul,  and  hold  real  communion  with 
the  Highest,  "in  the  Church  of  St.  Clement  Danes:" 


128  CARLYLE   ON 

this  too  stands  all  unfolded  in  his  Biography,  and  Is 
among  the  most  touching  and  memorable  things  there; 
a  thing  to  be  looked  at  with  pity,  admiration,  awe. 
Johnson's  Religion  was  as  the  light  of  life  to  him; 
without  it  his  heart  was  all  sick,  dark,  and  had  no  5 
guidance  left. 

He  is  now  enlisted,  or  impressed,  into  that  unspeak- 
able shoeblack-seraph  Army  of  Authors;  but  can  feel 
hereby  that  he  fights  under  a  celestial  flag,  and  will 
quit  him  like  a  man.  The  first  grand  requisite,  an 
assured  heart,  he  therefore  has:  what  his  outward  10 
equipments,  and  accoutrements  are,  is  the  next  ques- 
tion ;  an  important,  though  inferior  one.  His  intel- 
lectual stock,  intrinsically  viewed,  is  perhaps  incon- 
siderable: the  furnishings  of  an  English  School  and 
English  University;  good  knowledge  of  the  Latin  15 
tongue,  a  more  uncertain  one  of  Greek:  this  is  a 
rather  slender  stock  of  Education  wherewith  to  front 
the  world.  But  then  it  is  to  be  remembered  that 
his  world  was  England ;  that  such  was  the  culture 
England  commonly  supplied  and  expected.  Besides  20 
Johnson  has  been  a  voracious  reader,  though  a  desul- 
tory one,  and  oftenest  in  strange  scholastic,  too  obso- 
lete Libraries ;  he  has  also  rubbed  shoulders  with  the 
press  of  actual  Life,  for  some  thirty  years  now:  views 
or  hallucinations  of  innumerable  things  are  weltering  25 
to  and  fro  in  him.  Above  all,  be  his  weapons  what 
they  may,  he  has  an  arm  that  can  wield  them. 
Nature  has  given  him  her  choicest  gift:  an  open  eye 
and  heart.  He  will  look  on  the  world,  wheresoever  he 
can  catch  a  glimpse  of  it,  with  eager  curiosity:  to  the  30 
last,  we  find  this  a  striking  characteristic  of  him;  for 


BOSWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  1 29 

all  human  interests  he  has  a  sense;  the  meanest  handi- 
craftsman could  interest  him,  even  in  extreme  age, 
by  speaking  of  his  craft :  the  ways  of  men  are  all 
interesting  to  him;  any  human  thing  that  he  did   not 

5  know  he  wished  to  know.  Reflection,  moreover, 
Meditation,  was  what  he  practised  incessantly  with 
or  without  his  will:  for  the  mind  of  the  man  was 
earnest,  deep  as  well  as  humane.  Thus  would  the 
world,  such  fragments  of  it  as  he  could  survey,  form 

10  itself,  or  continually  tend  to  form  itself,  into  a  coher- 
ent whole;  on  any  and  on  all  phases  of  which  his  vote 
and  voice  must  be  well  worth  listening  to.  As  ai 
Speaker  of  the  Word,  he  will  speak  real  words;  no 
idle  jargon  or  hollow  triviality  will  issue  from   him. 

15  His  aim,  too,  is  clear,  attainable,  that  of  working  for 
his  ivages  :  let  him  do  this  honestly,  and  all  else  will 
follow  of  its  own  accord. 

With  such  omens,  into  such  a  warfare,  did  Johnson 
go  forth.     A  rugged,  hungry  Kerne,  or  Gallowglass,  as 

20  we  called  him:  yet  indomitable;  in  whom  lay  the  true 
spirit  of  a  Soldier.  With  giant's  force  he  toils,  since 
such  is  his  appointment,  were  it  but  at  hewing  of  wood 
and  drawing  of  water  for  old  sedentary  bushy-wigged 
Cave;     distinguishes    himself   by    mere    quantity,    if 

25  there  is  to  be  no  other  distinction.  He  can  write  all 
things;  frosty  Latin  verses,  if  these  are  the  salable 
commodity;  Book-prefaces,  Political  Philippics,  Re- 
view Articles,  Parliamentary  Debates:  all  things  he 
does  rapidly;  still  more  surprising,  all  things  he  does 

30  thoroughly  and  well.  How  he  sits  there,  in  his  rough- 
hewn,  amorphous  bulk,  in  that  upper-room  at  St. 
John's  Gate,  and  trundles  off  sheet  after  sheet  of  those 


130  CARLYLE   ON 

Senate-of-Lillipiit  Debates,  to  the  clamorous  Printer's 
Devils  waiting  for  them,  with  insatiable  throat,  down- 
stairs; himself  perhaps  imprausns  all  the  while! 
Admire  also  the  greatness  of  Literature;  how  a  grain 
of  mustard-seed  cast  into  its  Nile-waters,  shall  settle  5 
in  the  teeming  mould,  and  be  found,  one  day,  as  a 
Tree,  in  whose  branches  all  the  fowls  of  heaven  may- 
lodge.  Was  it  not  so  with  these  Lilliput  Debates?  In 
that  small  project  and  act  began  the  stupendous 
Fourth  Estate;  whose  wide  world-embracing  in- 10 
fluences  what  eye  can  take  in;  in  whose  boughs  are 
there  not  already  fowls  of  strange  feather  lodged? 
Such  things,  and  far  stranger,  were  done  in  that  won- 
drous old  Portal,  even  in  latter  times.  And  then 
figure  Samuel  dining  "behind  the  screen,"  from  a  15 
trencher  covertly  handed  in  to  him,  at  a  preconcerted 
nod  from  the  "great  bushy  wig;"  Samuel  too  ragged 
to  show  face,  yet  "made  a  happy  man  of"  by  hearing 
his  praise  spoken.  If  to  Johnson  himself,  then  much 
more  to  us,  may  that  St.  John's  Gate  be  a  place  we  20 
can  "never  pass  without  veneration."  ^ 

^  All  Johnson's  places  of  resort  and  abode  are  venerable,  and 
now  indeed  to  the  many  as  well  as  to  the  few  ;  for  his  name  has 
become  great  ;  and,  as  we  must  often  with  a  kind  of  sad  admira- 
tion recognize,  there  is,  even  to  the  rudest  man,  no  greatness  so  25 
venerable  as  intellectual,  as  spiritual  greatness  ;  nay,  properly 
there  is  no  other  venerable  at  all.  For  example,  what  soul-sub- 
duing magic,  for  the  very  clown  or  craftsman  of  our  England, 
lies  in  the  word  "  Scholar  "!  "  He  is  a  Scholar  :  "  he  is  a  man 
7viser  than  we  ;  of  a  wisdom  to  us  boundless,  infinite  :  who  shall  30 
speak  his  worth  !  Such  things,  we  say,  fill  us  with  a  certain 
pathetic  admiration  of  defaced  and  obstructed  yet  glorious  man  ; 
archangel    though   in  ruins, — or,   rather,   though   in    rubbish,    of 


BOS  IVE  LLS  LIFE    OF  JOHN  SOX.  1 3 1 

Poverty,  Distress,  and  as  yet  Obscurity,  are  his  com-/^ 
panions;  so  poor  is  he  that  his  Wife  must  leave  him, 
and   seek  shelter   among  other   relations;    Johnson's 
household  has  accommodation  for  one  inmate   only. 

5  To  all  his  ever-varying,  ever-recurring  troubles,  more- 
encumbrances  and  mud-incrustations,  which  also  are  not  to  be 
perpetual. 

Nevertheless,  in  this  mad-whirling,  all-forgetting  London,  the 
haunts  of  the  mighty  that  were  can  seldom  without  a  strange  diffi- 

10  culty  be  discovered.  Will  any  man,  for  instance,  tell  us  which 
bricks  it  was  in  Lincoln's  Inn  Buildings,  that  Ben  Jonson's  hand 
and  trowel  laid  ?  No  man,  it  is  to  be  feared, — and  also  grumbled 
at.  With  Samuel  Johnson  may  it  prove  otherwise  !  A  Gentle- 
man of  the  British  Museum  is  said  to  have  made  drawings  of  all 

15  his  residences  :  the  blessing  of  Old  Mortality  be  upon  him  !  We 
ourselves,  not  without  labor  and  risk,  lately  discovered  Gough 
Square,  between  Fleet  Street  and  Holborn  (adjoining  both  to 
Bolt  Court  and  to  Johnson's  Court)  ;  and  on  the  second  day 
of  search,  the  very  House  there,  wherein  the  English  Dictionary 

20  was  composed.  It  is  the  first  or  corner  house  on  the  right  hand, 
as  you  enter  through  the  arched  way  from  the  North-west.  The 
actual  occupant,  an  elderly,  well-washed,  decent-looking  man, 
invited  us  to  enter;  and  courteously  undertook  to  h^  cicerone ; 
though  in  his  memory  lay  nothing  but  the  foolishest  jumble  and 

25  hallucination.  It  is  a  stout,  old-fashioned,  oak-balustraded  house  : 
"I  have  spent  many  a  pound  and  penny  on  it  since  then,"  said 
the  worthy  landlord  ;  ' '  here,  you  see,  this  Bedroom  was  the 
Doctor's  study ;  that  was  the  garden  "  (a  plot  of  delved  ground 
somewhat  larger  than  a  bed-quilt),  "  where  he  walked  for  exer- 

30  cise  ;  these  three  Garret  Bedrooms  "  (where  his  three  copyists  sat_ 
and  wrote)  "  were  the  place  he  kept  his — Pupils  in  "!  Tempus 
edax  rerum  !  Yet  ferax  also  :  for  our  friend  now  added,  with  a 
wistful  look,  which  strove  to  seem  merely  historical :  "  I  let  it  all 
in   Lodgings,  to  respectable  gentlemen  ;  by  the    quarter,  or  the 

35  month  ;  it's  all  one  to  me." — "  To  me  also,"  whispered  the  ghost 
of  Samuel,  as  we  went  pensively  our  ways. 


132  CARLYLE   ON 

over,  must  be  added  this  continual  one  of   ill  health, 
and   its   concomitant  depressiveness:   a  galling  load, 
which  would  have  crushed  most  common  mortals  into 
desperation,  is  his  appointed  ballast  and  life-burden; 
he  "could  not  remember  the  day  he  had  passed  free   5 
from  pain."      Nevertheless,   Life,  as  we  said  before, 
is  always  Life:  a  healthy  soul,  imprison  it  as  you  will, 
in   squalid   garrets,   shabby   coat,    bodily   sickness,  or 
whatever  else,  will  assert  its  heaven-granted  indefeas- 
ible Freedom,  its  right  to  conquer  difficulties,  to  do  10 
work,  even  to  feel  gladness.     Johnson  does  not  whine 
over  his  existence,  but  manfully  makes  the  most  and 
best  of  it.      "He  said,  a  man  might  live  in  a  garret 
at  eighteenpence  a-week:   few  people   would  inquire 
where  he  lodged;  and  if  they  did,  it  was  easy  to  say,  15 
'Sir,  I  am  to  be  found  at  such  a  place.'     By  spending 
threepence  in  a  coffee-house,  he  might  be  for   some 
hours  every  day  in  very  good  company;  he  might  dine 
for  sixpence,  breakfast  on  bread-and-milk  for  a  penny, 
and  do  without  supper.      On  clean-shirt  day  he  went  20 
abroad   and   paid   visits."     Think   by   whom   and   of 
whom  this  was  uttered,  and  ask  then.  Whether  there 
is  more  pathos  in  it  than  in  a  whole  circulating-library 
of  Giaours  and  Harolds^  or  less  pathos?     On  another 
occasion,  "when  Dr.  Johnson,  one  day,  read  his  own  25 
Satire,  in  which  the  life  of  a  scholar  is  painted,  with 
the  various  obstructions  thrown  in  his  way  to  fortune 
and   to  fame,  he  burst  into  a  passion   of  tears:  Mr. 
Thrale's  family  and  Mr.  Scott  only  were  present,  who, 
in  a  jocose  way,  clapped  him  on  the  back,  and  said,  30 
'What's  all  this,  my  dear  sir?      Why,  you  and  I  and 
Hercules^    you   know,    were   all  troubled  with  melan- 


BOSWELL'S  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  133 

choly.'  He  was  a  very  large  man,  and  made  out  the 
triumvirate  with  Johnson  and  Hercules  comically- 
enough."  These  were  sweet  tears;  the  sweet  victor- 
ious remembrance  lay  in  them  of  toils  indeed  fright- 

5  ful,  yet  never  flinched  from,  and  now  triumphed  over. 
"One  day  it  shall  delight  you  to  remember  labor 
done ! ' ' — Neither,  though  Johnson  is  obscure  and  poor, 
need  the  highest  enjoyment  of  existence,  that  of  heart 
freely  communing  with  heart,  be  denied  him.     Savage 

10 and  he  wander  homeless  through  the  streets;  without 
bed,  yet  not  without  friendly  converse;  such  another 
conversation  not,  it  is  like,  producible  in  the  proudest 
drawing-room  of  London.  Nor,  under  the  void  Night, 
upon  the  hard  pavement,  are  their  own  woes  the  only 

15  topic:  nowise;  they  "will  stand  by  their  country," 
they  there,  the  two  "Back-woods-men"  of  the  Brick 
Desert! 

Of  all  outward  evils  Obscurity  is  perhaps  in  itself 
the  least.     To  Johnson,  as  to  a  healthy-minded  man, 

20  the  fantastic  article,  sold  or  given  under  the  title  of 
Fa/ne^  had  little  or  no  value  but  its  intrinsic  one.  He 
prized  it  as  the  means  of  getting  him  employment  and 
good  wages ;  scarcely  as  any  thing  more.  His  light 
and  guidance  came  from  a  loftier  source  ;   of  which,  in 

25  honest  aversion  to  all  hypocrisy  or  pretentious   talk, 

he  spoke  not  to  men;   nay  perhaps,  being  of  a  healthy 

mind,  had  never  spoken  to  himself.     We  reckon  it  a 

striking  fact  in  Johnson's  history,  this  carelessness  of 

/his  to  Fame.      Most  authors  speak  of  their  "Fame" 

30 as  if  it  were  a  quite  priceless  matter;  the  grand  ulti- 
matum, and  heavenly  Constantine's-banner  they  had 
to  follow,  and  conquer  under. — Thy  "Fame!"     Un- 


134  CARLYLE   ON- 

happy  mortal,  where  will  it  and  thou  both  be  in  some 
fifty  years?  Shakespeare  himself  has  lasted  but  two 
hundred ;  Homer  (partly  by  accident)  three  thousand  : 
and  does  not  already  an  Eternity  encircle  every  Me 
and  every  Thee?  Cease,  then,  to  sit  feverishly  hatch-  5 
ing  on  that '  'Fame"  of  thine  ;  and  flapping  and  shriek- 
ing with  fierce  hisses,  like  brood-goose  on  her  last 
egg,  if  man  shall  or  dare  approach  it!  Quarrel  not 
with  me,  hate  me  not,  my  brother:  make  what  thou 
canst  of  thy  egg,  and  welcome:  God  knows,  I  will  not  10 
steal  it;  I  believe  it  to  be  addle. — Johnson,  for  his 
part,  was  no  man  to  be  "killed  by  a  review";  con- 
cerning which  matter,  it  was  said  by  a  benevolent 
person:  "If  any  author  can  be  reviewed  to  death,  let 
it  be,  with  all  convenient  despatch,  doney  Johnson  15 
thankfully  receives  any  word  spoken  in  his  favor;  is 
nowise  disobliged  by  a  lampoon,  but  will  look  at  it,  if 
pointed  out  to  him,  and  show  how  it  might  have  been 
done  better:  the  lampoon  itself  is  indeed  nothing^  a 
soap-bubble  that  next  moment  will  become  a  drop  of  20 
sour  suds;  but  in  the  meanwhile,  if  it  do  anything,  it 
keeps  him  more  in  the  world's  eye,  and  the  next 
bargain  will  be  all  the  richer:  "Sir,  if  they  should 
cease  to  talk  of  me,  I  must  starve."  Sound  heart 
and  understanding  head:  these  fail  no  man,  not  even  25 
a  Man  of  Letters ! 

Obscurity,  however,  was,  in  Johnson's  case, 
whether  a  light  or  heavy  evil,  likely  to  be  no  lasting 
one.  He  is  animated  by  the  spirit  of  a  true  workin^^ 
resolute  to  do  his  work  well;  and  he  does  his  work  30 
well;  all  his  work,  that  of  writing,  that  of  living.  A 
man  of  this  stamp  is  unhappily  not  so  common  in  the 


BOSWELVS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  135 

literary  or  in  any  other  department  of  the  world,  that 
he  can  continue  always  unnoticed.  By  slow  degrees, 
Johnson  emerges;  looming,  at  first,  huge  and  dim  in 
the  eye  of  an  observant  few;   at  last  disclosed,  in  his 

5  real  proportions,  to  the  eye  of  the  whole  world,  and 
encircled  with  a  "light-nimbus"  of  glory,  so  that 
whoso  is  not  blind  must  and  shall  behold  him.  By 
slow  degrees,  we  said ;  for  this  also  is  notable ;  slow 
but  sure:  as  his  fame  waxes  not  by  exaggerated  clamor 

10  of  what  he  seems  to  be,  but  by  better  and  better  insight 
of  what  he  /i",  so  it  will  last  and  stand  wearing,  being 
genuine.  Thus  indeed  is  it  always,  or  nearly  always, 
with  true  fame.  The  heavenly  Luminary  rises  amid 
vapors;   star-gazers  enough  must  scan  it  with  critical 

15  telescopes ;  it  makes  no  blazing,  the  world  can  either 
look  at  it,  or  forbear  looking  at  it ;  not  till  after  a 
time  and  times  does  its  celestial  eternal  nature  become 
indubitable.  Pleasant,  on  the  other  hand,  is  the  blaz- 
ing of  a  Tar-barrel;   the  crowd  dance  merrily  round 

20  it,  with  loud  huzzaing,  universal  three-times-three, 
and,  like  Homer's  peasants,  "bless  the  useful  light:" 
but  unhappily  it  so  soon  ends  in  darkness,  foul  chok- 
ing smoke;  and  is  kicked  into  the  gutters,  a  name- 
less imbroglio  of   charred  staves,  pitch-cinders,  and 

25  vo/nissement  du  diable  ! 

But  indeed,  from  of  old,  Johnson  has  enjoyed  all, 
or  nearly  all,  that  Fame  can  yield  any  man:  the  respect,> 
the  obedience  of  those  that  are  about  him  and  inferior 
to  him;   of  those  whose  opinion  alone  can   have  any 

30  forcible  impression  on  him.  A  little  circle  gathers 
round  the  Wise  man ;  which  gradually  enlarges  as  the 
report  thereof  spreads,  and  more  can  come  to  see,  and 


136  CARLYLE    ON 

believe;  for  Wisdom  is  precious,  and  of  irresistible 
attraction  to  all.  "An  inspired -idiot,"  Goldsmith, 
hangs  strangely  about  him;  though,  as  Hawkins  says, 
"he  loved  not  Johnson,  but  rather  envied  him  for 
his  parts;  and  once  entreated  a  friend  to  desist  from  5 
praising  him,  'for  in  doing  so,'  said  he,  'you  harrow  up 
my  very  soul!'  "  Yet,  on  the  wdiole,  there  is  no  evil 
in  the  "gooseberry-fool ; ' '  but  rather  much  good ;  of  a 
finer,  if  of  a  weaker,  sort  than  Johnson's;  and  all  the 
more  genuine  that  he  himself  could  never  become  con- 10 
scions  of  it, — though  unhappily  never  cease  attempting 
to  become  so:  the  author  of  the  genuine  Vicar  of 
Wakefield^  nill  he,  wnll  he,  must  needs  fly  towards 
such  a  mass  of  genuine  Manhood ;  and  Dr.  Minor 
keep  gyrating  round  Dr.  Major,  alternately  attracted  15 
and  repelled.  Then  there  is  the  chivalrous  Topham 
Beauclerk,  with  his  sharp  wit,  and  gallant  courtly 
ways:  there  is  Bennet  Langton,  an  orthodox  gentle- 
man, and  worthy;  though  Johnson  once  laughed, 
louder  almost  than  mortal,  at  his  last  will  and  testa-  20 
ment;  and  "could  not  stop  his  merriment,  but  con- 
tinued it  all  the  way  till  he  got  without  the  Temple- 
gate  ;  then  burst  into  such  a  fit  of  laughter  that  he 
appeared  to  be  almost  in  a  convulsion ;  and,  in  order 
to  support  himself,  laid  hold  of  one  of  the  posts  at  25 
the  side  of  the  foot-pavement,  and  sent  forth  peals  so 
loud  that,  in  the  silence  of  the  night,  his  voice  seemed 
to  resound  from  Temple-bar  to  Fleet-ditch!"  Lastly 
comes  his  solid-thinking,  solid-feeding  Thrale,  the 
^veil-beloved  man;  with  Thralia,  a  bright  papilionace- 30 
ous  creature,  whom  the  elephant  loved  to  play  with, 
and  wave  to  and  fro  upon  his  trunk.     Not  to  speak 


BOSWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  137 

of  a  reverent  Bozzy,  for  what  need  is  there  farther? — 
Or  of  the  spiritual  Luminaries,  with  tongue  or  pen, 
who  made  that  age  remarkable;  or  of  Highland  Lairds 
drinking,  in  fierce  usquebaugh,  "Your  health,  Toctor 

5  Shonson  ! " — still  less  of  many  such  as  that  poor  "Mr. 
F.  Lewis,"  older  in  date,  of  whose  birth,  death,  and 
whole  terrestrial  res  gestcE^  this  only,  and  strange 
enough  this  actually,  survives:  "Sir,  he  lived  in  Lon- 
don and  hung  loose  upon  society ! "   Stat  Parvi  no  mi /its 

10  uvibra. — 

In  his  fifty-third  year  he  is  beneficed,  by  the  royal 
bounty,  with  a  Pension  of  three  hundred  pounds. 
Loud  clamor  is  always  more  or  less  insane:  but  prob- 
ably the  insanest  of  all  loud  clamors  in  the  eighteenth 

15  century  was  this  that  was  raised  about  Johnson's  Peiy 
sion.  Men  seem  to  be  led  by  the  noses;  but,  in 
reality,  it  is  by  the  ears, — as  some  ancient  slaves  w^ere, 
who  had  their  ears  bored;  or  as  some  modern  quad- 
rupeds may  be,  whose  ears   are  long.     Very  falsely 

2owasitsaid,  "Names  do  not  change  Things;"  Names 
do  change  Things ;  nay,  for  most  part  they  are  the 
only  substance  which  mankind  can  discern  in  Things. 
The  whole  sum  that  Johnson,  during  the  remaining 
twenty  years  of  his  life,  drew  from  the  public  funds  of 

25  England,  would  have  supported  some  Supreme  Priest 
for  about  half  as  many  weeks ;  it  amounts  very  nearly 
to  the  revenue  of  our  poorest  Church-Overseer  for  one 
twelvemonth.  Of  secular  Administrators  of  Prov- 
inces, and  Horse-subduers,  and  Game-destroyers,  we 

30 shall  not  so  much  as  speak:  but  who  were  the  Pri- 
mates of  England,  and  the  Primates  of  all  England, 
during  Johnson's  days?     No  man   has  remembered. 


138  CARLYLE   ON 

Again,  Is  the  Primate  of  all  England  something,  or  is 
he  nothing?  If  something,  then  what  but  the  man 
who,  in  the  supreme  degree,  teaches  and  spiritually 
edifies,  and  leads  towards  Heaven  by  guiding  wisely 
through  the  Earth,  the  living  souls  that  inhabit  Eng-  5 
land?  We  touch  here  upon  deep  matters;  which  but 
remotely  concern  us,  and  might  lead  us  into  still 
deeper:  clear,  in  the  meanwhile,  it  is  that  the  true 
Spiritual  Edifier  and  Soul's-Father  of  all  England 
was,  and  till  very  lately  continued  to  be,  the  man  10 
named  Samuel  Johnson, — whom  this  scot-and-lot-pay- 
ing  world  cackled  reproachfully  to  see  remunerated 
like  a  Supervisor  of  Excise ! 

If  Destiny  had  beaten  hard   on  poor  Samuel,  and 
did  never  cease  to  visit  him  too  roughly,  yet  the  last  15 
section  of  his  Life  might   be  pronounced  victorious, 
and  on  the  whole  happy.     He  was  not  idle;   but  now 
no   longer   goaded  on  by  want;   the   light  \vhich  had 
shone    irradiating   the    dark   haunts   of   Poverty   now 
illuminates  the  circles  of  Wealth,  of  a  certain  culture  20 
and    elegant    intelligence;    he    w^ho    had    once    been 
admitted  to  speak  with  Edmund  Cave  and   Tobacco 
Browne,  now  admits  a  Reynolds  and  a  Burke  to  speak 
with  him.     Loving  friends  are  there;    Listeners,  even 
Answerers:  the  fruit  of  his  long  labors  lies  round  him  25 
in  fair   legible  Writings,   of    Philosophy,   Eloquence, 
Morality,   Philology ;   some  excellent,   all  worthy  and 
genuine    Works;     for    which,   too,    a    deep,   earnest 
murmur    of  thanks  reaches  him  from  all  ends  of  his 
Fatherland.      Nay,  there    are  works  of  Goodness,   of  30 
undying   Mercy,    which   even    he    has    possessed    the 
power  to  do:   "What  I  gave  I  have;  what  I  spent  I 


BOSWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  139 

had!"  ETarly  friends  had  long  sunk  into  the  grave; 
yet  in  his  soul  they  ever  lived,  fresh  and  clear,  with 
soft  pious  breathings  towards  them,  not  without  a  still 
hope   of  one  day  meeting  them  again  in  purer  union. 

5  Such  was  Johnson's  Life:  the  victorious  Battle  of  a 
free,  true  Man.  Finally  he  died  the  death  of  the  free 
and  true:  a  dark  cloud  of  death,  solemn  and  not 
untinged  with  haloes  of  immortal  Hope,  "took  him 
away,"    and  our  eyes  could  no  longer  behold   him; 

10  but  can  still  behold  the  trace  and  impress  of  his 
courageous  honest  spirit,  deep-legible  in  the  World's 
Business,  wheresoever  he  walked  and  was. 

To  estimate  the  quantity  of  Work  that  Johnson  per- 
formed,   how  much   poorer    the   World    were    had  it 

15  wanted  him,  can,  as  in  all  such  cases,  never  be  accur- 
ately done ;  cannot,  till  after  some  longer  space,  be 
approximately  done.  All  work  is  as  seed  sown ;  it 
grows  and  spreads,  and  sows  itself  anew,  and  so,  in 
endless  palingenesia,  lives  and  works.      To  Johnson's 

20  Writings,  good  and  solid,  and  still  profitable  as  they 
are,  we  have  already  rated  his  Life  and  Conversation 
as  superior.  By  the  one  and  by  the  other,  who  shall 
compute  what  effects  have  been  produced,  and  are 
still,  and  into  deep  Time,  producing? 

25  So  much,  however,  we  can  already  see:  It  is  now 
some  three  quarters  of  a  century  that  Johnson  has 
been  the  Prophet  of  the  English ;  the  man  by  whose 
light  (he  English  people,  in  public  and  in  private,  more 
than  by  any  other  man's,  have  guided  their  existence, 

30  Higher  light  than  that  immediately  practical  one; 
higher  virtue  than   an  honest   Prudence,    he  could 


I40  CARLYLE   ON 

not  then  communicate;  nor  perhaps  could  they  have 
received:  such  light,  such  virtue,  however,  he  did 
communicate.  How  to  thread  this  labyrinthic  Time, 
the  fallen  and  falling  Ruin  of  Times;  to  silence  vain 
Scruples,  hold  firm  to  the  last  the  fragments  of  old  5 
Belief,  and  with  earnest  eye  still  discern  some  glimpses 
of  a  true  path,  and  go  forward  thereon,  *'in  a  world 
where  there  is  much  to  be  done,  and  little  to  be 
known:"  this  is  what  Samuel  Johnson,  by  act  and 
word,  taught  his  nation;  what  his  nation  received  and  10 
learned  of  him,  more  than  of  any  other.  We  can  view 
him  as  the  preserver  and  transmitter  of  whatsoever 
was  genuine  in  the  spirit  of  Toryism ;  which  genuine 
spirit,  it  is  now  becoming  manifest,  must  again  embody 
itself  in  all  new  forms  of  Society,  be  what  they  may,  15 
that  are  to  exist,  and  have  continuance — elsewhere 
than  on  Paper.  The  last  in  many  things,  Johnson 
was  the  last  genuine  Tory ;  the  last  of  Englishmen 
who,  with  strong  voice  and  wholly-believing  heart, 
preached  the  Doctrine  of  Standing-still ;  who,  without  20 
selfishness  or  slavishness,  reverenced  the  existing 
Powers,  and  could  assert  the  privileges  of  rank,  though 
himself  poor,  neglected,  and  plebeian;  who  had  heart- 
devoutness  \vith  heart-hatred  of  cant,  was  orthodox- 
religious  wnth  his  eyes  open ;  and  in  all  things  and  25 
everywhere  spoke  out  in  plain  English,  from  a  soul 
wherein  Jesuitism  could  find  no  harbor,  and  with  the 
front  and  tone  not  of  a  diplomatist  but  of  a  man. 

The  last  of  the  Tories  was  Johnson:  not  Burke,  as 
is  often  said ;   Burke  was  essentially  a  Whig,  and  only  30 
on  reaching  the  verge   of  the  chasm   towards   which 
Whiggism   from   the  first   was   inevitably  leading,  re- 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  Hi 

coiled ;  and,  like  a  man  vehement  rather  than  earnest, 
a  resplendent  far-sighted  Rhetorician  rather  than  a 
deep,  sure  Thinker,  recoiled  with  no  measure,  con- 
vulsively,   and    damaging   what   he   drove   back  with 

5   him. 

In  a  world  which  exists  by  the  balance  of  Antagon- 
isms the  respective  merit  of  the  Conservator  and 
the  Innovator  must  ever  remain  debatable.  Great,  in 
the  meanwhile,  and  undoubted  for  both  sides,  is  the 

lo  merit  of  him  who,  in  a  day  of  Change,  walks  wisely, 
honestly.  Johnson's  aim  was  in  itself  an  impossible 
one:  this  of  stemming  the  eternal  Flood  of  Time; 
of  clutching  all  things  and  anchoring  them  down,  and 
saying.  Move  not! — how  could  it,  or  should   it,  ever 

15  have  success?  The  strongest  man  can  but  retard  the 
current  partially  and  for  a  short  hour.  Yet  even  in 
such  shortest  retardation,  may  not  an  inestimable  value 
lie?  If  England  has  escaped  the  blood-bath  of  a 
French  Revolution ;   and   may  yet,   in  virtue   of   this 

20  delay  and  of  the  experience  it  has  given,  work  out  her 
deliverance  calmly  into  a  new  Era,  let  Samuel  John- 
son, beyond  all  contemporary  or  succeeding  men,  have 
the  praise  for  it.  We  said  above  that  he  was  appointed 
to  be  Ruler  of  the  British  nation  for  a  season:  whoso 

25  will  look  beyond  the  surface,  into  the  heart  of  the 
world's  movements,  may  find  that  all  Pitt  Administra- 
tions, and  Continental  Subsidies,  and  Waterloo  vic- 
tories rested  on  the  possibility  of  making  England, 
yet   a  little    while,  Toryish^  Loyal    to    the    Old ;   and 

30  this  again  on  the  anterior  reality,  that  the  Wise  had 
found  such  Loyalty  still  practicable,  and  recommend- 
able.     England  had  its  Hume,  as  France  had  its  Vol- 


142  CARLYLE   ON 

taires   and    Diderots;   but   the   Johnson   was  peculiar 
to  us. 

If  we  ask  now,  by  what   endowment  it  mainly  was 
that   Johnson   realized  such   a    Life   for  himself   and 
others ;   what  quality  of  character  the  main  phenomena   5 
of  his  Life  may  be  most  naturally  deduced  from,  and 
his  other  qualities  most  naturally  subordinated  to  in 
our  conception  of  him,  perhaps  the  answer  were:  The 
quality   of   Courage,   of   Valor;   that   Johnson    was   a 
Brave  Man.     The  Courage   that  can   go   forth,  once  10 
and  away,  to  Chalk-Farm,  and  have  itself  shot,  and 
snuffed  out,  with  decency,  is  nowise  wholly  what  we 
mean    here.     Such    Courage    we    indeed    esteem    an 
exceeding  small  matter;   capable  of  coexisting  with  a 
life    full    of   falsehood,   feebleness,    poltroonery,    and  15 
despicability.     Nay    oftener  it   is    Cowardice    rather 
that  produces  the  result:  for  consider,  Is  the  Chalk- 
Farm   Pistoleer  inspired   with   any  reasonable  Belief 
and  Determination;   or  is  he  hounded  on  by  haggard 
indefinable   Fear, — how    he    will    be    cut    at    public  20 
places,    and   "plucked    geese   of    the   neighborhood" 
will  wag  their  tongues  at  him   a  plucked   goose?     If 
he  go  then,  and  be  shot  without  shrieking  or  audible 
uproar,  it  is  well  for  him  :   nevertheless  there  is  nothing 
amazing  in   it.     Courage  to  manage  all  this  has  not  25 
perhaps  been  denied  to  any  man,  or  to  any   woman. 
Thus,  do  not  recruiting  sergeants  drum  through  the 
streets   of  manufacturing   towns,   and   collect   ragged 
losels  enough;   every  one  of  whom,  if  once  dressed  in 
red,  and  trained  a  little,  will   receive  fire   cheerfully  30 
for  the  small  sum  of  one  shilling /^r  diem,  and  have 


BOSWELVS  LIFE   OF  JOHNSOiV.  143 

the  soul  blown  out  of  him  at  last,  with  perfect  pro- 
priety. The  Courage  that  dares  only  die  is  on  the 
whole  no  sublime  affair;  necessary  indeed,  yet  uni- 
versal; pitiful  when   it  begins  to   parade  itself.     On 

5  this  Globe  of  ours  there  are  some  thirty-six  persons 
that  manifest  it,  seldom  with  the  smallest  failure, 
during  every  second  of  time.  Nay,  look  at  Newgate : 
do  not  the  offscourings  of  Creation,  when  condemned 
to  the  gallows,  as  if  they  were  not  men  but  vermin, 

10  walk  thither  with  decency,  and  even  to  the  scowls 
and  hootings  of  the  whole  Universe,  give  their  stern 
good-night  in  silence?  What  is  to  be  undergone  only 
once,  we  may  undergo;  what  must  be,  comes  almost 
of  its   own  accord.     Considered  as   Duellist,  what  a 

15  poor  figure  does  the  fiercest  Irish  Whiskerando  make 
compared  w^ith  any  English  Game-cock,  such  as  you 
may  buy  for  fifteen -pence! 

The  Courage  we  desire  and  prize  is  not  the  Courage 
to  die  decently,   but  to  live  manfully.     This,    when 

20 by  God's  grace  it  has  been  given,  lies  deep  in  the 
soul;  like  genial  heat,  fosters  all  other  virtues  and 
gifts ;  without  it  they  could  not  live.  In  spite  of  our 
innumerable  Waterloos  and  Peterloos,  and  such  cam- 
paigning as  there  has  been,  this  Courage  we  allude  to 

25  and  call  the  only  true  one,  is  perhaps  rarer  in  these 
last  ages  than  it  has  been  in  any  other  since  the  Saxon 
Invasion  under  Hengist.  Altogether  extinct  it  can 
never  be  among  men;  otherwise  the  species  Man  were 
no  longer  for  this  world:  here  and  there,  in  all  times, 

sounder  various  guises,  men  are  sent  hither  not  only  to 
demonstrate  but  exhibit  it,  and  testify,  as  from  heart 
to  heart,  that  it  is  still  possible,  still  practicable. 


144  CARLYLE   ON' 

Johnson,  in  the  eighteenth  century,  and  as  Man  of 
Letters,  was  one  of  such;  and,  in  good  truth,  "the 
bravest  of  the  brave."  What  mortal  could  have  more 
to  war  with?  Yet,  as  we  saw,  he  yielded  not,  faltered 
not;  he  fought,  and  even,  such  was  his  blessedness,  5 
prevailed.  Whoso  will  understand  what  it  is  to  have 
a  man's  lieart  may  find  that,  since  the  time  of  John 
Milton,  no  braver  heart  had  beat  in  any  English 
bosom  than  Samuel  Johnson  now  bore.  Observe,  too, 
that  he  never  called  himself  brave,  never  felt  himself  10 
to  be  so;  the  more  completely  was  so.  No  Giant 
Despair,  no  Golgotha-Death-dance  or  Sorcerer's-Sab- 
bath  of  "Literary  Life  in  London,"  appals  this  pil- 
grim; he  works  resolutely  for  deliverance;  in  still 
defiance  steps  stoutly  along.  The  thing  that  is  given  15 
him  to  do,  he  can  make  himself  do;  what  is  to  be 
endured,  he  can  endure  in  silence. 

How  the  great  soul  of  old  Samuel,  consuming  daily 
his  own  bitter  unalleviable  allotment  of  misery   and 
toil,  shows  beside  the  poor  flimsy  little  soul  of  young  20 
Boswell;  one  day  flaunting  in  the  ring  of  vanity,  tarry- 
ing by  the  wine-cup  and  crying,  Aha,  the  wine  is  red; 
the    next    day    deploring    his    down-pressed,    night- 
shaded,  quite  poor  estate,  and  thinking  it  unkind  that 
the  whole  movement  of  the  Universe  should  go  on,  25 
while  his  digestive-apparatus  had  stopped !     We  reckon 
Johnson's  "talent  of  silence"  to  be  among  his  great 
and  too  rare  gifts.     Where  there  is  nothing  farther  to 
be  done,  there  shall  nothing  farther  be  said:  like  his 
own  poor  blind  Welshwoman,  he  accomplished  some-  30 
what,  and  also  "endured  fifty  years  of  wretchedness 
with   unshaken   fortitude."     Hoav    grim   was   Life  to 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE   OF  JOHiVSOiV.  1 45 

him;  a  sick  Prison-house  and  Doubting-castle!  "His 
great  business,"  he  would  profess,  "was  to  escape 
from  himself."  Yet  towards  all  this  he  has  taken  his 
position  and  resolution;  can  dismiss  it  all  "with  frigid 
5  indifference,  having  little  to  hope  or  to  fear." 
Friends  are  stupid,  and  pusillanimous,  and  parsimo- 
nious; "wearied  of  his  stay,  yet  offended  at  his  depar- 
ture:" it  is  the  manner  of  the  world.  "By  popular 
delusion,"  remarks  he  with  a  gigantic  calmness,  "init- 
io erate  writers  will  rise  into  renown:"  it  is  portion  of 
the  History  of  English  literature;  a  perennial  thing, 
this  same  popular  delusion;  and  will — alter  the  char- 
acter of  the  Language. 

Closely  connected  with  this  quality  of  Valor,  partly 
15  as  springing  from  it,  partly  as  protected  by  it,  are  the 
more  recognizable  qualities  of  Truthfulness  in  word 
and    thought,    and   Honesty    in  action.      There   is  a 
reciprocity  of  influence  here:   for  as  the  realising  of 
Truthfulness  and  Honesty  is  the   Life-light  and  great 
20  aim  of  Valor,  so  without  Valor  they  cannot,  in  any- 
wise, be  realised.      Now,  in  spite  of  all  practical  short- 
comings,   no   one   that   sees   into   the   significance   of 
Johnson  will  say  that  his  prime  object  was  not  Truth. 
In  conversation,  doubtless,  you  may  observe  him,  on 
25  occasion,  fighting  as  if  for  victory; — and  must  pardon 
these  ebulliences  of  a  careless  hour,  which  were  not 
without  temptation   and   provocation.      Remark  like- 
wise two  things:  that  such  prize-arguings  were  ever  on 
merely  superficial  debatable  questions;  and  then  that 
30  they  were  argued  generally  by  the  fair  laws  of  battle 
and   logic-fence,  by   one   cunning  in  that   same.     If 
their  purpose  was  excusable,  their  effect  was  harmless, 


146  CARLYLE   ON- 

perhaps  beneficial:  that  of  taming  noisy  mediocrity, 
and  showing  it  another  side  of  a  debatable  matter;  to 
see  both  sides  of  which  was,  for  the  first  time,  to  see 
the  Truth  of  it.  In  his  Writings  themselves,  are  errors 
enough,  crabbed  prepossessions  enough;  yet  theses 
also  of  a  quite  extraneous  and  accidental  nature, 
nowhere  a  wilful  shutting  of  the  eyes  to  the  Truth, 
Nay,  is  there  not  everywhere  a  heartfelt  discernment, 
singular,  almost  admirable,  if  we  consider  through 
what  confused  conflicting  lights  and  hallucinations  it  10 
had  to  be  attained,  of  the  highest  everlasting  Truth, 
and  beginning  of  all  Truths:  this  namely,  that  man  is 
ever,  and  even  in  the  age  of  Wilkes  and  Whitfield,  a 
Revelation  of  God  to  man  ;  and  lives,  moves,  and  has 
his  being  in  Truth  only;  is  either  true,  or,  in  strict  15 
speech,  is  not  at  all? 

Quite  spotless,  on  the  other  hand,  is  Johnson's  love 
of  Truth,  if  we  look  at  it  as  expressed  in  practice,  as 
what  we  have  named  Honesty  of  action.  "Clear 
your  mind  of  Cant;"  clear  it,  throw  Cant  utterly 20 
away:  such  was  his  emphatic,  repeated  precept;  and 
did  not  he  himself  faithfully  conform  to  it?  The  Life 
of  this  man  has  been,  as  it  were,  turned  inside  out, 
and  examined  with  microscopes  by  friend  and  foe; 
yet  was  there  no  Lie  found  in  him.  His  Doings  and  25 
Writings  are  not  shows  but  performances :  you  may 
weigh  them  in  the  balance,  and  they  will  stand  weight. 
Not  a  line,  not  a  sentence  is  dishonestly  done,  is 
other  than  it  pretends  to  be.  Alas !  and  he  wrote  not 
out  of  inward  inspiration,  but  to  earn  his  wages:  and  30 
with  that  grand  perennial  tide  of  "popular  delusion" 
flowing  by;  in  whose  waters  he  nevertheless   refused 


BO  SWELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHNSON.  147 

to  fish,  to  whose  rich  oyster-beds  the  dive  was  too 
muddy  for  him.  Observe,  again,  with  what  innate 
hatred  of  Cant,  he  takes  for  himself,  and  offers  to 
others,  the  lowest  possible  view  of  his  business,  which 

5  he  followed  with  such  nobleness.  Motive  for  writing 
he  had  none,  as  he  often  said,  but  money;  and  yet 
he  wrote  so.  Into  the  region  of  Poetic  Art  he  indeed 
never  rose;  there  was  no  ideal  without  him  avowing 
itself  in  his  work:  the  nobler  was  that  unavowed  ideal 

10  which  lay  within  him,  and  commanded  saying.  Work 
out  thy  Artisanship  in  the  spirit  of  an  Artist !  They 
who  talk  loudest  about  the  dignity  of  Art,  and  fancy 
that  they  too  are  Artistic  guild-brethren,  and  of  the 
Celestials, — let   them   consider  well  what  manner  of 

15  man  this  was,  who  felt  himself  to  be  only  a  hired  day- 
laborer.  A  laborer  that  was  worthy  of  his  hire;  that 
has  labored  not  as  an  eye-servant,  but  as  one  found 
faithful !  Neither  was  Johnson  in  those  days  perhaps 
wholly  a  unique.     Time  was  when,   for  money,  you 

20  might  have  ware:  and  needed  not,  in  all  departments, 
in  that  of  the  Epic  Poem,  in  that  of  the  Blacking 
Bottle,  to  rest  content  with  the  xntxe  persuasion  that 
you  had  ware.  It  was  a  happier  time.  But  as  yet 
the  seventh  Apocalyptic  Bladder  (of  Puffery)  had  not 

25  been  rent  open, — to  whirl  and  grind,  as  in  a  West- 
Indian  Tornado,  all  earthly  trades  and  things  into 
wreck,  and  dust,  and  consummation, — and  regenera- 
tion.    Be  it  quickly,  since  it  must  be! 

That  mercy  can  dwell  only  with  Valor,  is   an   old 

30 sentiment  or  proposition;  which  in  Johnson  again 
receives  confirmation.  Few  men  on  record  have  had 
a  more  merciful,  tenderly  affectionate  nature  than  old 


148  CARLYLE   OX 

Samuel.  He  was  called  the  Bear;  and  did  indeed  too 
often  look,  and  roar,  like  one;  being  forced  to  it  in 
his  own  defence:  yet  within  that  shaggy  exterior  of 
his  there  beat  a  heart  warm  as  a  mother's,  soft  as  a 
little  child's.  Nay  generally,  his  very  roaring  was  5 
but  the  anger  of  affection  :  the  rage  of  a  Bear,  if  you 
will;  but  of  a  Bear  bereaved  of  her  whelps.  Touch 
his  Religion,  glance  at  the  Church  of  England,  or  the 
Divine  Right;  and  he  was  upon  you!  These  things 
were  his  Symbols  of  all  that  was  good  and  precious  10 
for  men;  his  very  Ark  of  the  Covenant:  whoso  laid 
hand  on  them  tore  asunder  his  heart  of  hearts.  Not 
out  of  hatred  to  the  opponent,  but  of  love  to  the  thing 
opposed,  did  Johnson  grow  cruel,  fiercely  contradic- 
tory: this  is  an  important  distinction ;  never  to  be  for- 15 
gotten  in  our  censure  of  his  conversational  outrages. 
But  observe  also  with  what  humanity,  what  openness 
of  love,  he  can  attach  himself  to  all  things:  to  a  blind 
old  woman,  to  a  Doctor  Levett,  to  a  Cat  "Hodge." 
"His  thoughts  in  the  latter  part  of  his  life  were  fre- 20 
quently  employed  on  his  deceased  friends;  he  often 
muttered  these  or  such-like  sentences:  'Poor  man! 
and  then  he  died.'  "  How  he  patiently  converts  his 
poor  home  into  a  Lazaretto;  endures,  for  long  years, 
the  contradiction  of  the  miserable  and  unreasonable;  25 
with  him  unconnected,  save  that  they  had  no  other 
to  yield  them  refuge!  Generous  old  man  !  Worldly 
possession  he  has  little;  yet  of  this  he  gives  freely; 
from  his  own  hard-earned  shilling,  the  halfpence  for 
the  poor,  that  "waited  his  coming  out,"  are  not  with- 30 
held:  the  poor  "waited  the  coming  out"  of  one  not 
quite  so  poor!      A  Sterne  can  write  sentimentalities  on 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  149 

Dead  Asses :  Johnson  has  a  rough  voice ;  but  he  finds 
the  wretched  Daughter  of  Vice  fallen  down  in  the 
streets,  carries  her  home  on  his  own  shoulders,  and 
like  a  good  Samaritan  gives  help  to  the  help-needing, 

5  worthy  or  unworthy.  Ought  not  Charity,  even  in 
that  sense,  to  cover  a  multitude  of  Sins?  No  Penny-a- 
week  Committee-Lady,  no  manager  of  Soup-kitchens, 
dancer  at  Charity-balls,  was  this  rugged,  stern-visaged 
man;  but   where,    in  all    England,    could   there   have 

10  been  found  another  soul  so  full  of  Pity,  a  hand  so 
heavenlike  bounteous  as  his?  The  widow's  mite,  we 
know,  was  greater  than  all  the  other  gifts. 

Perhaps    it    is    this    divine    feeling    of   affection, 
throughout    manifested,    that    principally    attracts   us 

15  towards  Johnson.  A  true  brother  of  men  is  he;  and 
filial  lover  of  the  Earth ;  who,  with  little  bright  spots 
of  Attachment,  "where  lives  and  works  some  loved 
one,"  has  beautified  "this  rougli  solitary  earth  into  a 
peopled  garden."     Lichfield,  with  its  mostly  dull  and 

2  J  limited  inhabitants,  is  to  the  last  one  of  the  sunny 
islets  for  him:  Salve  magna  parens  !  Or  read  those 
Letters  on  his  Mother's  death:  what  a  genuine  solemn 
grief  and  pity  lies  recorded  there ;  a  looking  back 
into   the    Past,    unspeakably    mournful,    unspeakably 

25  tender.     And   yet   calm,    sublime;  for  he   must   now 
act,  not  look:   his  venerated  Mother  has  been  taken  , 
from  him ;  but  he  must  now  write  a  Rasselas  to   de-  \ 
fray  her   interment.       Again,  in   this   little   incident^-^ 
recorded    in    his    Book     of    Devotion,    are    not   the 

30  tones  of  sacred  Sorrow  and  Greatness  deeper  than 
in  many  a  blank  verse  Tragedy;  as,  indeed,  "the 
fifth    act    of    a  Tragedy"    (though   unrhymed)    does 


ISO  CARLYLE   ON 

*'lie   in   every  death-bed,   were  it   a   peasant's,    and 
of  straw:" 

"Sunday,  October  i8,   1767.     Yesterday,  at  about  ten  in  the 
morning,  I  took  my  leave  forever  of  my  dear  old  friend,  Catherine 
Chambers,  who  came  to  live  with  my  mother  about  1724,  and  has    5 
been  but  little  parted  from  us  since.     She  buried  my  father,  my 
brother,  and  my  mother.     She  is  now  fifty-eight  years  old. 

"  I  desired  all  to  withdraw  ;  then  told  her  that  we  were  to 
part  forever  ;  that  as  Christians,  we  should  part  with  prayer  ;  and 
that  I  would,  if  she  was  willing,  say  a  short  prayer  beside  her,  10 
She  expressed  great  desire  to  hear  me  ;  and  held  up  her  poor 
hands  as  she  lay  in  bed,  with  great  fervor,  while  I  prayed  kneel- 
ing by  her 

* '  I  then  kissed  her.     She  told  me  that  to  part  was  the  greatest 
pain  she  had  ever  felt,  and  that  she  hoped  we  should  meet  again  15 
in  a  better  place.     I  expressed,  with  swelled  eyes  and  great  emo- 
tion of  tenderness,  the  same  hopes.     We  kissed  and  parted  ;  I 
humbly  hope,  to  meet  again,  and  to  part  no  more." 

Tears  trickling  down  the  granite  rock:  a  soft  well 
of  Pity  springs  within !  Still  more  tragical  is  this  20 
other  scene:  "Johnson  mentioned  that  he  could  not 
in  general  accuse  himself  of  having  been  an  undutiful 
son.  'Once,  indeed,*  said  he,  *I  was  disobedient:  I 
refused  to  attend  my  father  to  Uttoxeter  market. 
Pride  was  the  source  of  that  refusal,  and  the  remem-  25 
brance  of  it  is  painful.  K  few  years  ago  I  desired  to 
atone  for  this  fault.'  " — But  by  what  method? — What 
method  was  now  possible?  Hear  it;  the  words  are 
again  given  as  his  own,  though  here  evidently  by  a  less 
capable  reporter:  30 

"  Madam,  I  beg  your  pardon  for  the  abruptness  of  my  departure 
in  the  morning,  but  I  was  compelled  to  it  by  conscience.  Fifty 
years  ago,   madam,   on  this  day,  I  committed  a  breach   of   filial 


BOS  WELL S  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  1 5 1 

piety.  My  father  had  been  in  the  habit  of  attending  Uttoxeter 
market,  and  opening  a  stall  there  for  the  sale  of  his  Books.  Con- 
fined by  indisposition,  he  desired  me,  that  day,  to  go  and  attend 
the  stall  in  his  place.  My  pride  prevented  me  ;  I  gave  my  father 
5  a  refusal. — And  now  to-day  I  have  been  to  Uttoxeter  ;  I  went  into 
the  market  at  the  time  of  business,  uncovered  my  head,  and  stood 
with  it  bare,  for  an  hour,  on  the  spot  where  my  father's  stall  used 
to  stand.  In  contrition  I  stood,  and  I  hope  the  penance  was 
expiatory."     , 

lo  Who  does  not  figure  to  himself  this  spectacle,  amid 
the  "rainy  weather,  and  the  sneers,"  or  wonder,  "of 
the  bystanders"?  The  memory  of  old  Michael  John- 
son, rising  from  the  far  distance;  sad-beckoning  in 
the  "moonlight  of  memory:"   how  he  had  toiled  faith- 

15  fully  hither  and  thither;  patiently  among  the  lowest 
of  the  low;  been  buffeted  and  beaten  down,  yet  ever 
risen  again,  ever  tried  it  anew — And  oh!  when  the 
wearied  old  man,  as  Bookseller,  or  Hawker,  or  Tinker, 
or  whatsoever  it  was  that  Fate  had  reduced  him  to, 

20  begged  help  of  thee  for  one  day, — how  savage,  diabolic, 
was  that  mean  Vanity,  which  answered,  No!  He 
sleeps  now;  after  life's  fitful  fever,  he  sleeps:  but 
thou,  O  Merciless,  how  now  wilt  thou  still  the  sting 
of  that  remembrance? — The  picture  of  Samuel  John- 

25  son  standing  bareheaded  in  the  market  there,  is  one 
of  the  grandest  and  saddest  we  can  paint.  Repent- 
ance! repentance!  he  proclaims,  as  with  passionate 
sobs:  but  only  to  the  ear  of  Heaven,  if  Heaven  will 
give  him  audience:   the  earthly  ear  and  heart,   that 

30  should  have  heard  it,  are  now  closed,  unresponsive 
forever. 

That  this  so  keen-loving,  soft-trembling  Affection- 
ateness,  the  inmost  essence  of  his  being,  must  have 


152  CARLYLE   ON 

looked  forth,  in  one  form  or  another,  through  John- 
son's whole  character,  practical  and  intellectual, 
modifying  both,  is  not  to  be  doubted.  Yet  through 
what  singular  distortions  and  superstitions,  moping 
melancholies,  blind  habits,  whims  about  "entering  5 
with  the  right  foot,"  and  "touching  every  post  as  he 
walked  along:"  and  all  the  other  mad  chaotic  lumber 
of  a  brain  that,  with  sun-clear  intellect,  hovered  for- 
ever on  the  verge  of  insanity, — must  that  same  inmost 
essence  have  looked  forth;  unrecognizable  to  all  but  10 
the  most  observant!  Accordingly  it  was  not  recog- 
nized; Johnson  passed  not  for  a  fine  nature,  but  for  a 
dull,  almost  brutal  one.  Might  not,  for  example,  the 
first-fruit  of  such  a  Lovingness,  coupled  with  his  quick 
Insight,  have  been  expected  to  be  a  peculiarly  cour- 15 
teous  demeanor  as  man  among  men?  In  Johnson's 
"Politeness,"  which  he  often,  to  the  wonder  of  some, 
asserted  to  be  great,  there  was  indeed  somewhat  that 
needed  explanation.  Nevertheless,  if  he  insisted 
always  on  handing  lady-visitors  to  their  carriage;  20 
though  with  the  certainty  of  collecting  a  mob  of  gazers 
in  Fleet  Street, — as  might  well  be,  the  beau  having 
on,  by  way  of  court  dress,  "his  rusty  brown  morning 
suit,  a  pair  of  old  shoes  for  slippers,  a  little  shrivelled 
wig  sticking  on  the  top  of  his  head,  and  the  sleeves  25 
of  his  shirt  and  the  knees  of  his  breeches  hanging 
loose:"— in  all  this  we  can  see  the  spirit  of  true  Polite- 
ness, only  shining  through  a  strange  medium.  Thus 
again,  in  his  apartments,  at  one  time,  there  were 
unfortunately  no  chairs.  "A  gentleman  who  fre-30 
quently  visited  him  whilst  writing  his  Idlers^  con- 
stantly found   him   at   his  desk,  sitting   on   one  with 


BO  SWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  153 

three  legs;  and  on  rising  from  it,  he  remarked  that 
Johnson  never  forgot  its  defects;  but  would  either 
hold  it  in  his  hand,  or  place  it  with  great  composure 
against  some  support ;   taking  no  notice  of  its  imper- 

5  fection  to  his  visitor," — who  meanwhile,  Ave  suppose, 
sat  upon  folios,  or  in  the  sartorial  fashion.  "It  was 
remarkable  in  Johnson,"  continues  Miss  Reynolds 
("Renny  dear"),  "that  no  external  circumstr.nces 
ever  prompted  him   to  make  any  apology,   or  to  seem 

loeven  sensible  of  their  existence.  Whether  this  was 
the  effect  of  philosopljic  pride,  or  of  some  partial 
notion  of  his  respecting  high-breeding,  is  doubtful." 
That  it  was.^  for  one  thing,  the  effect  of  genuine 
Politeness,  is  nowise  doubtful.     Not  of  the  Pharisaical 

15  Brummellean  Politeness,  which  would  suffer  crucifixion 
rather  than  ask  twice  for  soup:  but  the  noble  univer- 
sal Politeness  of  a  man  that  knows  the  dignity  of  men, 
and  feels  his  own;  such  as  may  be  seen  in  the  patri- 
archal bearing  of  an  Indian  Sachem;  such  as  Johnson 

20  himself  exhibited,  when  a  sudden  chance  brought  him 
into  dialogue  with  his  king.  To  us,  with  our  view 
of  the  man,  it  nowise  appears  "strange"  that  he  should 
have  boasted  himself  cunning  in  the  laws  of  polite- 
ness;   nor   "stranger    still,"    habitually    attentive    to 

25  practise  them. 

More  legibly  is  this  influence  of  the  Loving  heart 
to  be  traced  in  his  intellectual  character.  What, 
indeed,  is  the  beginning  of  intellect,  the  first  induce- 
ment to  the  exercise  thereof,  but  attraction  towards 

30 somewhat,  affection  for  it?  Thus,  too,  who  ever  saw, 
or  will  see,  any  true  talent,  not  to  speak  of  genius, 
the  foundation  of  which  is  not  goodness,  love?     From 


154  CARLYLE   aV 

Johnson's  strength  of  Affection  we  deduce  many  of 
his  intellectual  peculiarities;  especially  that  threaten- 
ing array  of  perversions,  known  under  the  name  of 
"Johnson's  Prejudices."  Looking  well  into  the  root 
from  which  these  sprung,  we  have  long  ceased  to  view  5 
them  with  hostility,  can  pardon  and  reverently  pity 
them.  Consider  with  what  force  early-imbibed 
opinions  must  have  clung  to  a  soul  of  this  Affection. 
Those  evil-famed  Prejudices  of  his,  that  Jacobitism, 
Church-of-Englandism,  hatred  of  the  Scotch,  belief  10 
in  Witches,  and  suchlike,  ^^hat  were  they  but  the 
ordinary  beliefs  of  well-doing,  well-meaning  provincial 
Englishmen  in  that  day?  First  gathered  by  his 
Father's  hearth;  round  the  kind  "country  fires,"  of 
native  Staffordshire;  they  grew  with  his  growth  and  15 
strengthened  with  his  strength:  they  were  hallowed 
by  fondest  sacred  recollections;  to  part  with  them 
was  parting  with  his  heart's  blood.  If  the  man  who 
has  no  strength  of  Affection,  strength  of  Belief,  have 
no  strength  of  Prejudice,  let  him  thank  Heaven  for  20 
it,  but  to  himself  take  small  thanks. 

Melancholy  it  was,  indeed,  that  the  noble  Johnson 
could  not  work  himself  loose  from  these  adhesions; 
that  he  could  only  purify  them,  and  wear  them  with 
some  nobleness.  Yet  let  us  understand  how  they  grew  25 
out  from  the  very  centre  of  his  being:  nay,  moreover, 
how  they  came  to  cohere  in  him  with  what  formed 
the  business  and  worth  of  his  Life,  the  sum  of  his 
whole  Spiritual  Endeavor.  For  it  is  on  the  same 
ground  that  he  became  throughout  an  Edifier  and  30 
Repairer,  not,  as  the  others  of  his  make  were,  a  Puller- 
down  ;   that  in  an  age  of  universal  Scepticism,  England 


BOS  WELL'S  LIFE   OF  JOHN  SO  IV.  155 

was  still  to  produce  its  Believer.  Mark,  too,  his 
candor  even  here;  while  a  Dr.  Adams,  with  placid 
surprise,  asks,  "Have  we  not  evidence  enough  of  the 
soul's   immortality?"    Johnson   answers,  "I   wish    for 

5   more." 

But  the  truth  is,  in  Prejudice,  as  in  all  things,  John- 
son was  the  product  of  England ;  one  of  those  good 
yeomen  whose  limbs  were  made  in  England:  alas, 
the  last  of  such  Invincibles,  their  day  being  now  done! 

10  His  culture  is  wholly  English;  that  not  of  a  Thinker 
but  of  a  "Scholar:"  his  interests  are  wholly  English; 
he  sees  and  knows  nothing  but  England;  he  is  the 
John  Bull  of  Spiritual  Europe:  let  him  live,  love  him, 
as  he  was  and  could  not  but  be!      Pitiable  it  is,  no 

15  doubt,  that  a  Samuel  Johnson  must  confute  Hume's 
irreligious  Philosophy  by  some  "story  from  a  Clergy- 
man of  the  Bishoprick  of  Durham;"  should  see 
nothing  in  the  great  Frederick  but  "Voltaire's  lackey;" 
in  Voltaire  himself  but  a  man  acei'rimi  ingenii^  pau- 

2c>carwn  litei'arum  ;  in  Rousseau  but  one  worthy  to  be 
hanged;  and  in  the  universal,  long-prepared,  inevi- 
table Tendency  of  European  Thought  but  a  green-sick 
milkmaid's  crotchet  of,  for  variety's  sake,  "milking 
the   Bull."     Our   good,    dear   John!     Observe,   too, 

25  what  it  is  that  he  sees  in  the  city  of  Paris:  no  feeblest 
glimpse  of  those  D'Alemberts  and  Diderots,  or  of 
the  strange  questionable  work  they  did;  solely  some 
Benedictine  Priests,  to  talk  kitchen-latin  with  them 
about     Editiones     Principes.     ''Monsheer    Noiigtong- 

2,opa%v !'' — Our  dear,  foolish  John:  yet  is  there  a  lion's 
heart  within  him !  Pitiable  all  these  things  were,  we 
say;  yet  nowise  inexcusable;  nay,  as  basis  or  as  foil 


156  CARLYLE   ON 

to  much  else  that  was  in  Johnson,  ahiiost  venerable. 
Ought  we  not,  indeed,  to  honor  England,  and  Eng- 
lish Institutions  and  Way  of  Life,  that  they  could  still 
equip  such  a  man ;  could  furnish  him  in  heart  and 
head  to  be  a  Samuel  Johnson,  and  yet  to  love  them,  5 
and  unyieldingly  fight  for  them?  What  truth  and  liv- 
ing vigor  must  such  Institutions  once  have  had,  when, 
in  the  middle  of  the  Eighteenth  century,  there  was  still 
enough  left  in  them  for  this ! 

It  is  worthy  of  note  that,  in  our  little  British  isle,  the  10 
two  grand  Antagonisms  of  Europe  should  have  stood 
embodied,  under  their  very  highest  concentration,  in 
two  men   produced  simultaneously  among  ourselves. 
Samuel  Johnson  and  David  Hume,  as  was  observed, 
were  children  nearly  of  the   same  year:   through  life  15 
they  were  spectators  of  the  same  Life-movement;  o/ten 
inhabitants  of  the  same  city.     Greater  contrast,  in  all 
things,  between  two  great  men,  could  not  be.     Hume, 
well-born,  competently  provided  for,  whole  in  body 
and  mind,  of  his  own  determination  forces  a  way  into  20 
t/ Literature :     Johnson,    poor,    moonstruck,    diseased, 
forlorn,  is  forced  into  it  "with  the  bayonet  of  neces- 
sity at  his  back."     And  what  a  part  did  they  severally 
play  there!     As  Johnson  became  the  father  of  all  suc- 
ceeding Tories;  so  was  Hume  the  father  of  all  sue- 25 
ceeding  Whigs,  for  his  own  Jacobitism  was  but  an 
accident,  as  worthy  to  be  named  prejudice  as  any  of 
Johnson's.     Again,   if  Johnson's   culture   was  exclu- 
sively English;  Hume's,   in  Scotland,  became  Euro- 
pean;— for  which  reason,   too,  we  find   his  influence  30 
spread  deeply  over  all  quarters  of  Europe,  traceable 
deeply  in  all  speculation,  French,  German,  as  well  as 


BOSWELVS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON.  i57 

domestic;  while  Johnson's  name,  out  of  England,  is 
hardly  anywhere  to  be  met  with.  In  spiritual  stature 
they  are  almost  equal;  both  great,  both  among  the 
greatest;     yet  how  unlike  in    likeness!      Hume    has 

5  the  widest,  methodising,  comprehensive  eye;  John- 
son the  keenest  for  perspicacity  and  minute  detail : 
so  had,  perhaps  chiefly,  their  education  ordered  it. 
Neither  of  the  two  rose  into  Poetry;  yet  both  to  some 
approximation  thereof:   Hume  to  something  of  an  epic 

10  clearness  and  method,  as  in  his  delineation  of  the 
Commonwealth  Wars;  Johnson  to  many  a  deep  lyric 
tone  of  plaintiveness  and  impetuous  graceful  power, 
scattered  over  his  fugitive  compositions.  Both,  rather 
to  the  general  surprise,   had  a  certain  rugged  humor 

15  shining  through  their  earnestness:  the  indication,  in- 
deed, that  they  were  earnest  men,  and  had  subdued  their 
wild  world  into  a  kind  of  temporary  home  and  safe 
dwelling.  Both  were,  by  principle  and  habit,  Stoics: 
yet  Johnson  with  the  greater  merit,  for  he  alone  had 

20  very  much  to  triumph  over;  farther,  he  alone  ennobled 
his  Stoicism  into  Devotion.  To  Johnson  Life  was  as  a 
Prison,  to  be  endured  with  heroic  faith;  to  Hume  it 
was  little  more  than  a  foolish  Bartholomew-Fair  Show- 
booth,  with   the  foolish  crowdings  and  elbowings  of 

25  which  it  was  not  worth  while  to  quarrel;  the  whole 
would  break  up,  and  be  at  liberty,  so  soon.  Both 
realized  the  highest  task  of  manhood,  that  of  living 
like  men;  each  died  not  unfitly,  in  his  way:  Hume  as 
one,  with  factitious,  half-false  gayety,  taking  leave  of 

30 what  was  itself  wholly  but  a  Lie:  Johnson  as  one, 
with  awe-struck,  yet  resolute  and  piously  expectant 
heart,  taking  leave   of   a  Reality,  to  enter  a  Reality 


158  BO  SWELLS  LIFE    OF  JOHNSON. 

Still  higher.  Johnson  had  the  harder  problem  of  it, 
from  first  to  last:  whether,  with  some  hesitation,  we 
can  admit  that  he  was  intrinsically  the  better-gifted, — 
may  remain  undecided. 

These  two  men  now  rest ;   the  one  in  Westminsters 
Abbey  here ;   the  other  in  the  Calton  Hill  Churchyard 
of  Edinburgh.     Through  Life  they  did  not  meet:  as 
contrasts,  "like  in  unlike,"  love  each  other;   so  might 
they  two  have  loved,  and  communed  kindly, — had  not 
the  terrestrial  dross  and  darkness  that  was  in  them  10 
withstood!      One  day,   their  spirits,  what  Truth   was 
in  each,  will  be  found  working,  living  in  harmony  and 
free  union,  even  here  below.     They  were  the  two  half- 
men  of  their  time:  whoso  should  combine  the  intrepid 
Candor  and   decisive   scientific   Clearness   of  Hume,  15 
with  the  Reverence,  the  Tove,  and  devout  Humility 
of  Johnson,  were  the  whole  man  of  a  new  time.     Till 
such  whole  man  arrive  for  us,  and  the  distracted  time 
admit  of  such,  might  the  Heavens  but  bless  poor  Eng- 
land with  half-men  worthy  to  tie  the  shoe-latchets  of  20 
these,    resembling   these   even    from    afar!      Be    both 
attentively  regarded,  let  the  true  Effort  of  both  pros- 
per;— and  for  the  present,  both  take. our  affectionate 
farewell ! 


NOTES  TO  MACAULAY'S  ESSAY. 


The  text  is  in  the  revised  form  in  which  it  has  appeared  since 
Macaulay's  Essays  were,  reprinted  in  England  in  1843.  The,  foot- 
notes are  those  then  appended  by  the  author. 

P^or  the  circumstances  under  which  the  essay  was  written,  see 
the  Introduction,  Parts  II.  and  III. 

For  Macaulay's  later  treatment  of  Johnson,  see  the  article 
"Johnson  "  in  the  Encycloptedia  Britaymica,  contributed  in  1856. 

References  to  volume  and  page  of  Bosvvell  are  to  tlie  edition  by 
G.  Birkbeck  Hill,  6  vols.,  1887.  The  accompanying  dates  will  en- 
able the  passages  to  be  found  without  difficulty  in  other  editions. 
Occasional  reference  is  made  to  the  original  Croker,  5  vols.,  1831. 
Johnson's  works  are  cited  in  the  edition  by  Murphy,  12  vols., 
1823.  Hawkins  is  cited  in  his  second  edition,  and  Mrs.  Thralein 
Johnsoniana,  collected  and  edited  by  Robina  Napier,  1884. 

I  :  13,  as  bad  as  bad  could  be.  See  the  Life,  June  3,  1784 
(iv.  284).     This  was  Johnson's  last  visit  to  Oxford. 

2: 10,  Derrick.  Samuel  Derrick,  an  Irish  poet,  who  succeeded 
Beau  Nash  as  "  King  of  Bath."  Appears  in  ^m.oW^i'Cs,  Humphrey 
Clinker. 

3:7,  the  lines.  Marmion  IV.  Intr.  131-6. — 14,  Allan  Ram- 
say, the  painter.  Born  1709,  died  1784,  as  given  by  Croker.  The 
second  version  is  Boswell's  error.  Here  designated  "  the  painter  " 
to  distinguish  him  from  his  father,  Allan  Ramsay,  the  poet  (1686- 
1758),  author  of  The  Gentle  Shepherd.— 20,  Mrs.  Thrale.  Hester 
Lynch  Salisbury  (or  Salusbury),  born  in  1741  ;  married  Henry 
Thrale,  a  wealthy  brewer,  and  M.  P.  for  Southwark,  in  1763  ;  met 
Johnson  in  1764.  Her  intimacy  with  Johnson  lasted  nearly  twenty 
years.  After  Thrale's  death  (1781)  she  quarreled  with  Johnson, 
preparatory  to  marrying  Gabriel  Piozzi,  an   Italian   music-master, 

159 


l6o  NOTES    TO   MACAULAY'S  ESSAY. 

resident  at  Bath,  in  1784.  She  died  in  1821.  She  was  a  woman 
of  great  vivacity,  with  a  smattering  of  several  languages,  and  a 
fondness  for  literary  society.  Besides  her  Anecdotes  of  Johnson, 
consult  her  Autobiography,  Letters,  and  Literary  Remaiiis,  edited 
by  Abraham  Hay  ward,  1861. 

4:15,  visit  to  Paris.  In  the  autumn  of  1775,  with  the  Thrales. 
See  the  Life,  September  18,  1775  (ii.  384-401),  where  may  be 
found  what  has  been  preserved  of  Johnson's  own  record  of  the 
journey. — 19,  Prince  Titi.  See  the  Life  of  Johnson,  by  F. 
Grant  {Great  Writers  Series),  pp.  105-7,  for  an  account  of  this 
book  and  of  the  controversy  over  it. — 21,  Frederick  Prince  of 
Wales.  Born  1707,  died  1751  :  son  of  George  II.,  father  of 
George  III.  During  his  father's  reign  he  figured  in  politics  as 
patron  of  the  opposition. 

5  :  10,  Enfans.  The  present  standard  spelling  is  enfants.  So 
priniemps  for  printems,  6  :  10. — 13,  Henry  Bate.  See  English 
N'e-wspapers,  by  H.  R.  Fox  Bourne,  1887  (i.  122).  Henry  Bate 
(1745-1824),  afterward  Sir  Henry  Bate  Dudley.  Bart.,  edited  the 
Morning  Post,  1775-80,  and  afterward  the  Morning  Herald.  The 
former,  founded  in  1772  as  the  organ  of  the  King's  party,  is  a  high 
Tory  journal  and  recognized  dispenser  of  fashionable  news,  still 
in  existence.  The  latter  began  under  Dudley's  editorship  in  1780 
as  the  organ  of  the  Prince  of  Wales,  and  was  continued  until  1869. 

6:11,  Lord  Hailes.  See  note  to  59:20. — 15,  Montrose. 
James  Graham,  first  marquis  C1612-50),  the  leader  of  the  Scot- 
tish cavaliers  from  1644  to  1646.  Hanged,  afterwards  beheaded 
and  dismembered.  Clarendon  gives  the  sentence  at  length,  but 
in  telling  of  his  death  merely  says,  "  The  next  day  they  executed 
every  part  and  circumstance  of  that  barbarous  sentence  with  all 
the  inhumanity  imaginable."     Bk.  XII  \  May  21,  1650. 

7:17,  Byng.  Admiral  the  Hon.  John  Byng  (1704-57).  Shot 
by  order  of  a  court  martial  for  neglect  of  duty  in  not  doing  his 
best  to  relieve  the  British  garrison  in  Minorca,  besieged  by  the 
French.  His  sentence  was  the  subject  of  much  controversy. 
Johnson  wrote  three  pamphlets  on  Byng's  behalf.  The  prosecu- 
tion of  Byng  was  ordered  by  the  Newcastle  ministry,  but  as 
Macaulay  points  out,  the  trial  was  begun  under  the  Devonshire 
administration,  in  which  Pitt  held  office. 


NOTES    TO  MACAULAY'S  ESSAY.  l6l 

9 :  lo,  Vicar  of  Wakefield.  See  the  Life  of  Goldsmith^  by 
Austin  Dobson  {Great  Writers  Series),  pp.  86-87,  110-117,  for 
an  account  of  the  difficulties  which  still  surround  the  "  celebrated 
scene."  The  date  1762  is  now  accepted.  Mrs.  Thrale  had  not 
met  Johnson  at  this  time.  Boswell's  account  is  under  date  of 
June  25,  1763  (i.  415). 

10 :  27,  Brookes' s.  Brooks's,  a  famous  Whig  club,  at  first 
known  as  Almack's,  established  in  1764  in  Pall  Mall.  In  1778, 
removed  to  60,  St.  James's  Street.  Among  the  '  wits  of  Brooks's  ' 
were  Horace  Walpole,  Fox,  Sheridan,  George  Selwyn,  and 
Charles  Townshend. 

II  :  I,  his  Doctor's  degree.  Johnson  left  Oxford  without  taking 
a  degree.  In  1755  (not  1754,  as  given  below  by  Macaulay)  the 
University  of  Oxford  gave  him  the  honorary  degree  of  M.A., 
which  appeared  on  the  title-page  of  his  Dictionary ^  and  in  1775 
that  of  D.C.L.  He  also  received  the  degree  of  LL.D.  from 
Trinity  College,  Dublin,  in  1765. — 18,  a//,  therefore,  that  is  nezu, 
etc.  Between  this  sentence  and  the  preceding  occurs  in  Croker's 
note  the  following,  which  Macaulay  curiously  omits  :  "  Everyone 
knows  that  Dr.  Johnson  said  of  Ossian  that  '  many  men,  many 
women,  and  many  children  might  have  written  it.'  "  The  restor- 
ation of  this  sentence  affords  a  clew  to  what  Croker  meant  by 
"  all  that  is  new,"  and  refutes  Macauley's  assertion,  "  the  only 
real  objection  to  the  story  Mr.  Croker  has  missed." — 31,  Blair, 
The  Rev.  Dr.  Hugh  Blair  (1718-1800),  author  of  Lectures  on 
Rhetoric  and  of  Sermons. 

13 :  8,  satires  of  Juvenal.  See  the  Life,  January,  1749  (i.  193). 
The  satire  of  Horace  referred  to  is  the  second  of  the  First  Book. 
— 10,  Prior's  tales.  See  the  Life,  September  22,  1777  iii.  192)  ; 
Croker  iv.  45,  n. — 30,  one  blunder.     Croker  iii.  20,  n. 

14:8,  epigra?n.  Life,  1743  (i.  157  and  71.  5).  Ad  LMut'am 
parituram.  "To  Laura  in  childbirth" — 15,  secular  ode.  Car- 
men Seculare,  line  15. — 20,  another  ode.  iii.  22,  2. — 21,  laborantes 
titero  puellas.  "  Girls  in  childbirth." — 22.  fourth-form.  The 
classes  or  grades  in  English  schools  are  called  fortns,  numbered 
from  first  to  sixth,  beginning  with  the  lowest. — 24,  an  inscription. 
See  the  Tour,  September  21  (v.  234).  The  sentence  quoted  here 
is  intended  to  mean  :   "  John  Macleod,  chief  of  his  clan,  united  in 


1 62  NO  TES    TO  MA  CA  ULA  V  'S  ESSA  V. 

marriage  to  Flora  Macdonald,  restored  in  the  year  1686  of  the 
common  era,  this  tower  of  Dunvegan,  by  far  the  most  ancient  abode 
of  his  ancestors,  which  had  long  fallen  utterly  into  decay,"  The 
Latin  is  contemptible,  not  because  of  its  "incorrect  structure," 
but  because  of  the  many  words  used  that  do  not  occur  in  classical 
writers.  The  text  contains  proavorum  (wrong)  and  labefactaiam, 
where  Boswell  gwes  proavorum  and  lahefectatam  (wrong). 

15:15,  <i>i/.6ao<l)og.  "Loving  wisdom." — 16.  ^ikoKepdrjq.  "Lov- 
ing gain." — 17,  Bentley.  Richard  Bentley  (1662-1742),  Master 
of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge.  The  most  eminent  classical 
scholar  of  his  time. — 18,  Casaubon.  Isaac  Casaubon,  classical 
scholar  ;  born  in  Geneva,  1559.  Lived  in  England  from  16 10 
to  his  death  in  1614.  His»  son,  Meric  Casaubon  (1599-1671), 
was  also  a  classical  scholar  of  note. — 22,  tny  1?  ^.  From  John- 
son's Prayers  and  Meditations^  April  4,  1 779,  which  Croker 
inserted  into  Boswell's  text.  They  had  been  edited  and  published 
by  the  Rev.  George  Strahan  in  1785.  It  appears  that  Q  was  an 
abbreviation  used  by  physicians  and  in  military  records  for 
Qavaro^  "  death,"  as  if  equivalent  to  "  dead,"  and  that  Johnson  else- 
where uses  the  abbreviation  ^  in  the  same  connection  to  mean 
"  friends."     See  the  Athenaum  for  June  18,  1887. 

16 :  7,  a  note.  See  the  Life,  March  19,  1782  (iv.  143).  "  Mr. 
Holder,  in  the  Strand,  Dr.  Johnson's  apothecary,"  Boswell  ex- 
plains.— 19,  Co'derius.  Mathurin  Cordier,  born  in  Normandy  in 
1479,  died  at  Geneva  in  1564.  A  famous  professor,  author  of 
numerous  treatises,  among  them  the  Colloqiiia  Scholastica,  a  book 
of  Latin  dialogues  for  beginners. — 25,  George  I.  Succeeded  to  the 
throne  at  the  death  of  Anne,  August  i,  1714.  Entered  London 
on  September  20,  1714, 

17  :  14,  Mattaire.  See  the  Life  under  October  17,  1780  (iv.  2). 
Michael  (or  Michel)  Maittaire  (1668-1747)  was  a  scholar,  and 
editor  of  classical  writers.  Born  in  France  ;  came  to  England  in  his 
youth. — 16,  Senilia  "  (Poems)  of  Old  Age." — 18,  Carteret  a  dactyl. 
John  Carteret,  Earl  of  Granville  (1690-1763).  Secretary  of  State 
in  the  Wilmington  Administration,  1742-44.  Croker  would  prob- 
ably not  have  misunderstood  the  objection  had  Johnson  said,  "  to 
use  the  uninflected  form  '  Carteret '  as  a  vocative."  The  reason 
for   Mattaire's  not  using  the  inflected  form,  Carterete,  is  that  the 


NOTES    TO  MACAULAY'S  ESSAY.  163 

second  e  would  be  long,  which  would  destroy  the  meter  of  his 
verse. — 28,  another  occasion.  "  Sir,  I  have  found  you  an  argu- 
ment, but  I  am  not  obliged  to  find  you  an  understanding."  Life^ 
under  June  16,  1784  (iv.  313). 

18:  I.Joannes  Baro  de  ;  Vicecomes  de.  John,  Baron  of;  Vis- 
count of. 

19  :  I,  Tom  Davies.  See  the  Life,  August  21,  1780  (iii.  434). 
It  was  at  his  shop  that  the  famous  first  meeting  between  Boswell 
and  Johnson  occurred  on  May  16,  1763.  See  the  Life  (i.  391). 
The  "  dogma  of  the  old  physiologists"  related  to  the  supposed 
spontaneous  generation  of  insects  in  decaying  carcases.  See,  for 
instance,  Vergil,  Georgics  iv.  538-558.  Dryden  had  said,  "  The 
corruption  of  a  poet  is  the  generation  of  a  critic. — 24,  Malone. 
Edmund  Malone,  the  Shakespearean  scholar  and  editor.  Born  in 
Dublin,  1 741  ;  settled  in  London,  1777  ;  elected  to  the  Literary 
Club,  1782.  In  1789-90  Malone  assisted  Boswell  in  revising  the 
MS.  and  correcting  the  proof  of  the  Life.  After  Boswell's  death 
he  edited  the  third,  fourth,  fifth,  and  sixth  editions  (1799,  1804, 
1807,  1811).     His  Shakespeare  was  published  in  1790.     Died  1812. 

20  :  2,  Sir  Reginald  Malcolm.  Presumably  the  hero  of  some 
forgotten  novel. — 3,  Pelham.  The  hero  of  Bulwer  Lytton's  second 
novel,  Pelham,  or  The  Adventures  of  a  Gentleman  (1827). — 10, 
the  music-master.  Piozzi,  see  note  to  3  :  20. — 24,  Markland,  etc. 
Jeremiah  Markland  (1693-1776),  classical  scholar  ;  John  Jortin, 
D.D.  (1698-1770),  ecclesiastical  historian  ;  Styan  Thirlby  (1692- 
1753),  scholar.  Johnson  printed  in  his  edition  of  Shakespeare 
some  notes  by  Thirlby. — 28,  It  zvas  him.  Roger  Boyle,  first  Earl 
of  Orrery  (1621-79). 

21  :  25,  In  one  place.  Croker  iv.  94. — 31,  In  another.  Croker 
iv.  44. 

22  : 6,  Mrs.  Thrale's  book,  etc.  The  books  referred  to  are  as 
follows  :  Thomas  Tyers,  A  biographical  sketch  of  Dr.  S.Johnson 
(1785)  ;  Hester  Lynch  Thrale  (Mrs.  Piozzi),  Anecdotes  of  S.John- 
son during  the  last  twenty  years  of  his  life  (1786) ;  Sir  John  Haw- 
kins, The  Life  of  Samuel  Johnson  (1787) ;  Arthur  Murphy,  An 
Essay  on  the  Life  and  Genius  of  S.Johnson  (1792);  Joseph 
Cradock,  Literary  Memoirs  (1828).  Besides  these,  Croker  made 
insertions  from  some  dozen  other  sources. 


l64  NOTES    TO   MACAU  LAY'S  ESSAY. 

23  :  3,  Utper  lave.  From  Persius,  Sat.  i.  64-5.  "  So  that  the 
joint  will  let  critical  nails  smoothly  pass  "  ;  i.  e.,  so  that  the  junc- 
tion could  not  be  detected  by  the  thumbnail. — 24,  Beloes  version. 
Herodotus,  Translated  from  the  Greek,  with  Notes.  By  the  Rev. 
William  Beloe  (1791).     Several  editions. 

24:9,  seen  by  Johjison.  See  the  l^our,  September  19  (v.  226) 
and  October  2  and  3  (v.  277  and  279).  It  does  not  appear,  though, 
that  Johnson  suspected  it  was  for  publication.  In  his  prospectus  of 
the  Life  (v.  421),  Boswell  asserts  that  "  Dr.  Johnson  was  well  in- 
formed of  his  design." — 29,  rifacimenti.  Italian,  "  adaptations"; 
singular,  rifaciviento. — harmonies.  Harmony  :  "A  collection  of 
parallel  passages  from  different  works  treating  of  the  same  sub- 
ject, for  the  purpose  of  showing  their  agreement  and  of  explain- 
ing their  apparent  discrepancies,"  Cent.  Diet.  Specifically  used 
of  compilations  of  the  four  gospels  into  one  continuous  narrative. 

25*3i  Diatessaron.  A  harmony  of  the  four  gospels.  Aid 
Tsaoapcjv,  "  through  four." — 5,  disciple  ivhom  Jesus  loved.  So  John 
refers  to  himself.  John  xix.  26  ;  etc. — 9,  Should  God  create.  See 
Far.  Lost  ix.  91 1-3. — 19,  Fepys's  Diafy.  Written  1660-65  ; 
first  published  1825. — Mrs.  Hutchinson's  Memoirs.  The  title  of 
the  work  is  Memoirs  of  the  Life  of  Col.  John  Hutchinson,  By  his 
Widow  {wntiQXi  1664-71,  first  published  1806). 

26:5,  race.  "A  strong  peculiarity  by  which  the  origin  or 
species  of  anything  may  be  recognized,  as  especially,  the  flavor  of 
wine,"  Cent.  Diet.,  rac^,  8  (obsolete). — 19,  Eclipse  is  first,  etc. 
The  famous  words  in  which  the  result  of  a  race  at  Epsom  was 
announced  in  1769.  Ahorse  is  "distanced"  that  is  more  than 
a  certain  distance  behind  the  winner  at  the  finish. — 23,  Many  of 
the  greatest  men,  etc.  A  sweeping  assertion,  difficult  to  support. 
Macaulay  explains  himself  in  29 ;  24  by  mentioning  Tacitus, 
Clarendon,  Alfieri,  and  Johnson,  who  are  not  enough  in  either 
numbers  or  greatness. — 29,  Johnson  described  him.  See  the  Life, 
October  16,  1769  (ii.  84) — 31,  Dunciad.  Pope's  first  version  of 
the  Dunciad  appeared  in  1728,  the  altered  and  enlarged  version 
in  1741. — Beauclerk  used  his  na?ne.  In  a  letter  to  Lord  Charle- 
mont.     See  Hill's  note  to  the  Life,  ii,  192. 

27  :4,  some  eminent  man.  "  By  the  time  Boswell  was  twenty- 
six  years  old  he  could  boast  that  he  had  made  the  acquaintance  of 


NOTES    TO  MACAULAY'S  ESSAY.  165 

Voltaire,  Rousseau,  and  Paoli  among  foreigners  ;  and  of  Adam 
Smith,  Robertson,  Hume,  Johnson,  Goldsmith,  Garrick,  Horace 
Walpole,  Wilkes,  and  perhaps  Reynolds,  among  Englishmen. 
He  had  twice  at  least  received  a  letter  from  the  Ear]  of 
Chatham."  Hill  (in  the  Life,  ii.  13,  n.  3). — 6,  binding  it,  etc. 
Job  xxxi.  36. — 8,  Shakespeare  Jubilee.  In  i769,Boswell  appeared 
at  a  masquerade  "  in  the  dress  of  an  armed  Corsican  chief.  .  . 
On  the  front  of  his  cap  was  embroidered  in  gold  letters,  Viva  la 
Liber ta."  See  Rogers's  Boswelliana,  p.  80.  For  "  Paoli  Bos- 
well,"  see  the  Tour,  August  28  (v.  123). — \i\,  family  pride.  See 
Boswell's  remarkable  account  of  his  ancestry,  Tour,  August  15 
(v.  25,  71.  2). — 21,  Tom  Paine.  Thomas  Paine  (1737-1809), 
author  of  The  Rights  of  Man  and  The  Age  of  Reason  ;  Ameri- 
can envoy  to  France,  1781.  The  anecdote  concerning  him  eludes 
search,  as  does  the  succeeding  one. — '^2,  evil presentinients.  See 
the  Life,  March  28,  1776  (iii.  4). 

28  :  2,  read  the  prayerbook.  Sqp  the  Tour,  September  25  and  26 
(v.  258-9). — 3,  a  hair  of  the  dog.  "  The  same  thing  that  caused  the 
malady  or  trouble  used  as  a  means  of  relief  ;  specifically,  spirits 
drunk  in  ihe  morning  after  a  debauch,  for  the  purpose  of  steady- 
ing the  nerves  :  in  allusion  to  the  popular  superstition  that  a  hair 
of  the  dog  that  has  bitten  one  will  cure  the  bite."  Cent.  Diet,, 
s.  v.  hair. — 4,  catne  azvay  maudlin.  Probably  referring  to  Bos- 
well's language  in  a  letter  quoted  by  Hill,  ii,  93,  «.  3. — 6,  one  of 
his  babies.  Veronica.  See  the  Tottr,  August  15  (v.  15). — 8,  the 
sailors  quieted  him.  By  giving  him  hold  of  a  rope  tied  to  a  mast, 
with  instructions  to  pull  when  the  word  was  given.  See  the  Tour, 
August  3  (v.  282). — 10,  at  Lady  Cork's.  Then  Miss  Monckton. 
See  the  Life,  under  May  8,  178 1  (iv.  109-10  and  IIO,  n.  i). 
Macaulay  makes  a  slight  slip  here  ;  it  was  not  the  ladies,  but 
Johnson,  that  Boswell's  merriment  annoyed. — 12,  the  Dttchess  of 
Argyle.  Lady  Hamilton.  See  the  Tour,  October  25  (v.  355-9). 
— 13,  Colonel  Macleod.  Tour,  September  16  (v.  215). — \^,  his 
father.  See  75  :  23  and  109  :  25.  Mrs.  Boswell  described  her 
husband  as  "  a  man  led  by  a  bear."  See  his  note  to  Johnson's 
letter  in  the  Life,  1773  (ii.  269,  n.  i). 

29  : 1,  one  of  his  conte??iporaries.  Horace  Walpole. — 2,  ariother. 
Garrick.     See  Boswell's  note  in  the  Life,  1763  (i.  412,  n.  6). — 6, 


1 66  XOTES    TO   MACAULAY'S  ESSAY.    ■ 

Hierocles.  A  legendary  Greek  collector  of  witty  sayings. — 15, 
Paul  Pry.  A  busybody.  The  name  is  from  John  Poole's  Paul 
Pry,  a  comedy  (1825). — 24,  Tacitus,  etc.  The  biographies  re- 
ferred to  are  Tacitus's  Agricola ;  Clarendon's  The  Life  of 
Edward,  Earl  of  Clarendoyi,  etc.,  written  by  Himself;  Alfieri's 
Memoirs  ;  Johnson's  Life  of  Savage  and  Lives  of  the  Poets. — 31, 
hereditary  gentility.  Life,  under  July  16,  1765  (i.  49T-2). — slave- 
trade.     Life,  wnder  September  22,  1777  (iii.  203-4). 

30:  I,  entailing.  Life,  March  15,  1776  (ii.  429). — 19,  abstract- 
edly. As  used  here,  equivalent  to  abstractly  ;  has  also  the  sense, 
"  with  absence  of  mind." — 23,  Justice  Shallow,  etc.  For  his 
"  nonsense"  see  2  Henry  IV.  iii.  2.  He  reappears  in  the  Merry 
Wives  of  Windsor.  For  Dr.  Caius,  see  the  Merry  Wives  of 
Windsor  i.  4,  etc.  For  Fluellen,  see  Henry  V.  iii.  2,  etc. 
Fluellen's  consonants  are  not  "  misplaced  "  but  mispronounced. 
Fluellen  is  a  "  phonetic  spelling"  of  IJewelyn. — i"],  Rousseau. 
In  his  Confessions. — 28,  Byron.  In  Childe  Harold  and  else- 
where. 

31  :  4,  Alnaschar.  The  Barber's  fifth  brother.  Lane's  Thou- 
sand and  One  Alights  {^.  359)  calls  him  El-Feshshar. — Malvolio. 
See  Twelfth  Night  ii.  5,  etc. — 13,  Palace  of  Truth.  De- 
scribed in  Le  Palais  de  la  VSrit^,  one  of  the  Contes  Moraux 
(1802)  of  Mme.  de  Genlis. — 31,  as  Mr.  Croker  tells.  In  his 
Preface  (Croker  I.  xxix). 

32  :  6,  the  king.  Charles  I.  In  the  altercation  over  the  resist- 
ance of  Sir  John  Hotham  to  the  King's  attempt  to  enter  Hull 
(1642),  Parliament  declared  that  "the  levying  of  war  against  his 
laws  and  authority,  though  not  against  his  person,  is  levying  war 
against  the  King  ;  but  the  levying  of  force  against  his  personal 
commands  (though  accompanied  with  his  presence)  and  not  against 
his  laws  and  authority,  but  in  the  maintenance  thereof,  is  no  levy- 
ing of  war  against  the  King,  but  for  him,"  Clarendon,  History  of 
the  Great  Rebellion,  Bk.  V.,  May  26,  1642(11.  529  ;  Oxford,  1826). 
(Punctuation  altered.) — 12,  without  some  expression  of  conte7npt. 
This  clause  misplaced.     It  should  follow  mentions,  not  illustrate. 

33:4,  Churchill,  ICenrick.  The  Rev.  Charles  Churchill 
(1731-64),  a  satirist,  caricatured  Johnson  as  Pomposo  in  a  poem 
entitled  The  Ghost  {i'](32).     William  Kenrick,  a  hackwriter,  at- 


■    NOTES    TO   MA  CA  [/LAV'S  ESSAY.  167 

tacked  Johnson's  Shakespeare  in  1765,  and  subsequently  attacked 
Johnson  in  A71  Epistle  to  James  Boszvell,  etc.  (1768). — 6,  a  compe- 
tent fortune.  His  pension  of  ;[^300,  bestowed  in  1762  for  his  ser- 
vices to  literature. — 15,  orange-peel.  See  the  Life,  March  31, 
1775  (ii.  330). — 20,  inmates.  Fully  described  in  various  passages 
in  the  Life.  Brief  accounts  in  Leslie  Stephen's yi^Z/wj-^w,  pp.  146- 
50. — 29,  That  celebj-ated  chib.  The  "Literary  Club,"  founded 
by  Reynolds  in  1764.  See  the  Zzy>  under  that  date  (i.  477-81). 
Macaulay  gives  here  a  partial  list  of  members.  See  Stephen's 
Johnson,  pp.  64-83.  For  the  difference  in  age  between  Johnson 
and  his  friends,  see  the  chart  in  Hill's  Life,  vol.  vi. 

34  :  29,  Congreve,  etc.  Of  the  authors  enumerated  in  this  para- 
graph or  mentioned  elsewhere  in  the  essay,  Macaulay  has  discussed 
in  his  Essays  Congreve  {Comic  Dramatists  of  the  Restoration)  and 
Addison,  and  in  the  Encyc .  Brit.  Goldsmith.  Johnson  has  ac 
counts  and  criticisms  of  Denham,  Milton,  Waller,  Dorset,  Step- 
ney, Dryden,  Smith,  Montagu  (whom  he  calls  by  his  title  Halifax) 
Parnell,  Rowe,  Addison,  Hughes,  Prior,  Congreve,  Blackmore, 
Gay,  Tickell,  Savage,  Swift,  Pope,  Thomson,  Ambrose  Philips 
Young,  Mallet,  and  Gray,  in  his  Lives  of  the  Poets. 

35  :  12,  his  first  comedy.  The  Old  Bachelor,  first  performed  in 
1693  ;  Congreve  was  born  in  1670.  He  was  appointed,  at  one 
time  or  another,  a  commissioner  for  licensing  hackney  coaches,  a 
commissioner  for  wine  licenses,  and  Secretary  of  Jamaica,  and 
held  places  in  the  Pipe  Office  and  in  the  Custom  House. — 13, 
Smith.  Edmund  Neale  (1662-17 10) ;  changed  his  name  to  Smith 
to  gratify  an  uncle  who  brought  him  up  after  his  father's  death. 
Phcedra  and  Hippolytns  was  acted  in  1680.  Halifax  had  promised 
Smith  a  place  of  ;!^300  a  year  for  the  dedication,  which  Smith  did 
not  take  the  trouble  to  write. — 16,  Rotve.  Nicholas  Rowe  (1673- 
1718)  ;  wrote  the  tragedies.  The  Fair  Penitent  and  Jane  Shore  ; 
edited  Shakespeare  (1709)  ;  and  translated  Lucan. — 19,  Presenta- 
tions. The  Secretary  of  Presentations  to  the  Lord  Chancellor  had 
the  duty  of  registering  nominations  to  livings  in  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor's gift. — 20,  Hughes.  John  Hughes  (1677-1720),  author  of 
The  Siege  of  Damascus,  a  tragedy. — -21,  Ambrose  Philips  (1671- 
1749).  Remembered  for  his  relations  with  Pope,  and  for  his  nick- 
name of  Namby  Pamby. — 24,  Stepney.     George  Stepney  (1663- 


1 68  NOTES    TO  MACAU  LAY'S  ESSAY. 

1707).  Johnson  gives  little  beyond  his  epitaph  and  a  list  of  his  em- 
bassies.— Moutagiie.  Charles  Montagu,  created  Baron,  then  Earl, 
of  Halifax  (1661-171 5),  wrote  7'//^'  City  ajid  Country  Mouse  {iti%'])\n 
conjunction  with  Prior.  It  was  a  burlesque  of  Dryden's  Bind 
and  Panther.  See  Horace,  Sat.  ii.  6,  80-117. — 31,  his  garter, 
etc.  "At  the  accession  of  George  the  First  [he]  was  made  Earl 
of  Halifax,  Knight  of  the  Garter,  and  first  commissioner  of  the 
treasury,  with  a  grant  to  his  nephew  of  the  reversion  of  the  aud- 
itorship  of  the  exchequer."  Lives  of  the  Poets  (Halifax).  A 
slight  slip  by  Macaulay. 

36:1,  Oxford.  Robert  Harley,  Earl  of  Oxford.  He  and 
Henry  St.  John,  Viscount  Bolingbroke,  were  the  leaders  of  the 
Tory  ministry  (1710-14).  The  "  white  staff"  was  the  symbol  of 
his  office  as  Lord  High  Treasurer. — 3,  Parnell.  Thomas  Par- 
nell  (1679-17 1 8),  author  of  The  Hermit^  a  narrative  poem. — 4, 
Steele.  He  was  expelled  from  the  House  of  Commons  in  1714, 
for  political  writings,  and  re-elected  in  171 5.  Commissioner  of 
stamps,  1710-14. — 6,  Mainwaring.  (1668-1712).  Editor  of 
The  Medley^  a  political  newspaper,  and  from  1710  to  1712  a 
member  of  Parliament.  Pronounced  as  if  spelled  Mannering. — 
7,  the  imprest.  ISIoney  advanced  as  a  loan  to  a  government  officer, 
for  use  in  a  public  service. —  Tickell.  Thomas  Tickell  (1686- 
1740),  poet  ;  friend  of  Addison. — 8,  Addison.  Secretary  of  State 
in  Lord  Stanhope's  administration  (1717-18). — 1 1,  Dorset.  Charles 
Sackville,  sixth  Earl  (1637-1706).  Macaulay  intim.ates  that  the 
poetry  of  Sheffield,  Rochester,  and  Roscommon  owed  its  interest 
chiefly  to  the  rank  of  the  writers. — 21,  the  house  of  Hanover. 
Came  in  with  George  I.  in  1714.  The  "supreme  power"  was 
in  the  hands  of  Sir  Robert  Walpole,  from  1721  to  1742. 

37:1,  Sir  Charles  Hanbury  Williatns.  (1709-1759).  Diplo- 
matist, and  writer  of  political  verse. — 8,  befriended  a  single  f?ian. 
See  40  :  21. — 12,  tinjust  war.  The  war  with  Spain  (1739-42). 
— 16,  St.  Ja7}ies's.  The  London  residence  of  the  English  kings 
from  William  IH.  to  George  IV. — Leicester  house.  In  Leicester 
Square.  Here  Frederick,  Prince  of  Wales,  lived,  from  1737  to 
his  death  in  1751. — 19,  literary  career.  It  must  be  borne  in 
mind  that  this  description  in  great  part  is  applicable,  not  to 
Johnson,  but  to  his  earlier  associates,  like    Savage  and  Boyse. 


NO  TES    TO   MA  CA  ULA  Y '  S  E  SSA  V.  169 

Johnson  was  never  dissipated  or  improvident.  Some  months 
after  his  first  visit  to  London  he  returned  to  Lichfield,  and  brought 
Mrs.  Johnson  to  live  in  London  with  him,  and  she  was  provided 
with  shelter  continuously  until  her  death  in  1752.  Bos  well  gives 
a  list  of  Johnson's  houses  in  a  note  to  the  Lt/e,  under  September 
21,  1779  (iii-  405,  ^-  6).  The  famous  story  of  Johnson  and  Savage 
walking  the  streets  together  all  night  for  want  of  a  lodging  pre- 
sents difficulties.  See  the  Lt/e,  1744,  and  Hill's  note  (i.  163,  n. 
2),  Macaulay's  description  of  the  Grub  Street  poet  applies 
equally  well  to  the  Elizabethan  dramatist. — 22,  The  prices  paid. 
Johnson  received  ten  guineas  for  London.  In  1738-39  he  made 
only  £i\()/'].  in  nine  months. — 25,  p?'ovide  for  the  day.  "  Much 
of  my  life  has  been  lost  under  the  pressure  of  disease  ;  much  has 
been  trifled  away  ;  and  much  has  always  been  spent  in  provision 
for  the  day  that  was  passing  over  me,"  Preface  to  the  Diction- 
ary, loth  page. — 26,  The  lean  kine.     See  Gen.  xli. 

38  :  2,  Kind's  Bench.  The  King's  Bench  was  a  prison,  which 
took  its  name  from  the  Court  of  King's  Bench.  The  Common 
Side  Avas  the  most  miserable  part  of  the  prison,  where  inmates 
were  lodged  that  could  not  pay  the  fees  for  better  quarters. — 3,  the 
Fleet.  A  prison  in  Fleet  Street,  demolished  in  1844.  11,  Grtib 
Street.  The  proverbial  abode  of  the  small  author.  Now  known 
as  Milton  Street,  after  one  Milton,  a  builder. — 13,  St.  Martin's. 
The  church  of  St.  Martin's  in  the  Fields,  Trafalgar  Square. 
"  The  labyrinthine  alleys  near  the  church,  destroyed  in  the  forma- 
tion of  Trafalgar  Square,  were  known  as  '  the  Bermudas.'  "  Kvi- 
gnstus  Hare,  IValhs  in  London,  ii.  ^. — 12,  l>ttlh  .  .  .  glass-house. 
American  stall,  green-house. — 18,  Kitcat.  This  was  a  Whig  club 
in  Shire  Lane,  Fleet  Street.  It  was  named  after  Christopher  Cat, 
or  Katt,  a  pastry-cook.  Among  the  members  were  Addison, 
Steele,  Congreve,  and  Mainwaring. — 19,  Scriblerus  club.  An 
earlier  political  club,  founded  by  Pope.  Swift,  Arbuthnot,  Gay, 
Parnell,  and  Prior  were  members. — 20,  the  High  Allies.  The 
Emperor,  Prussia,  the  Dutch,  and  England,  allied  against  Louis 
XIV.  (1701) — 23,  Albetnarle  Street.  In  this  street  is  the  famous 
publishing  house  of  John  Murray. — Paternoster  R010.  The 
headquarters  of  the  London  book-trade. 

39:  5,  third  night.     The  profits  of  every  third  performance  of 


lyo  KOl'ES    TO   MACAULAY'S  ESSAY. 

a  play  were  given  to  the  author  as  his  benefit. — 12,  Savage. 
Richard  Savage  (169S-1744),  author  of  The  Bastard  and  The 
Wanderer.  See  the  Life^  1744  (i.  161-174),  and  Johnson's  Life 
of  Savage. — 13,  Boyse.  Samuel  Boyse  (1708-1749),  a  forgotten 
literary  drudge.  For  the  anecdote  cited  by  Carlyle  (ill  :  3),  see 
Hawkins,  p.  157,  n. — 18,  Betty  Careless.  A  notorious  character 
of  the  time,  whose  name  has  become  proverbial. — 19,  Porridge 
island.  An  alley  near  St.  Martin's  Church,  filled  with  cheap 
cook-shops.  See  Thrale's  Anecdotes,  p.  44  (Croker  iv.  381). — 
28,  the  wild  ass,  the  unicorn.     See/od  xxix.  5-9. 

40:18,  Tope.  For  his  translation  of  Homer  (1715-1725)  he 
received  something  like  ;!^9000. — 21,  Yomig.  The  Rev.  Edward 
Young  (i68r-i765),  author  of  Alight  Thoughts. — 25,  Thomson. 
From  1737  to  1748  enjoyed  a  pension  of  ;^ioo  from  Frederick, 
Prince  of  Wales. — 26,  Mallet.  David  Mallet,  or  Malloch  (1705  ?- 
1765),  poet  and  dramatist.  Appointed  under-secretary  to  the 
Prince  of  Wales,  with  a  salary  of  ;^200  a  year. — 28,  kept  his  shop. 
Richardson  was  a  printer,  and  master  of  the  Stationers'  Company, 
one  of  the  London  guilds.  "  Keep  thy  shop,  and  thy  shop  will 
keep  thee,"  is  proverbial. 

41  :  \,  Johnson.  Arrested  for  debt  in  1756,  See  Hill's  note  to 
the  Life  (i.  303,  n.  i). — Collins.  Not  known  to  have  been 
actually  arrested,  though  described  as  "in  hiding  from  bailiffs." 
— Fielding.  Frequently  in  difficulties,  but  no  actual  arrest  is 
recorded.  In  his  Amelia,  Lieutenant  Booth,  understood  to  rep- 
resent the  author,  is  arrested  for  debt  (bk.  viii.).  Macaulay  has 
doubtless  taken  this  incident  literally. — 2,  Thomson.  The  story 
is  that  after  losing  his  position  as  Secretary  of  the  Briefs  (1737), 
he  was  arrested  for  a  debt  of  about  ^^70,  and  that  Quin  the 
actor  called  upon  him  at  the  sponging  house,  introduced  him- 
self, and  presented  him  with  a  supper  and  a  ;!^ioo  note,  as  a  return 
for  the  pleasure  he  had  received  from  reading  Thomson's  poems. 

42 :  8,  Curll,  etc.  Edmund  Curll  and  Thomas  Osborne  were 
booksellers.  The  first  is  notorious  for  his  connection  with  Pope  ; 
the  second  for  having  been  knocked  down  by  Johnson  :  * '  Sir,  he 
was  impertinent  to  me,  and  I  beat  him,"  Life,  1742  (i.  154). 
Curll  and  Osborne  are  ridiculed  in  the  Dunciad,  Bk.  ii. — 14, 
Pope.     In  the  Dunciad,  Bk.  ii. 


NO  TES    TO   MA  CA  ULA  V '  S  ESSA  V.  1 7 1 

43  :  2,  Streatham  Park.  Thrale's  house,  situated  at  Streatham 
in  Surrey,  close  to  London. — 3,  behind  the  screen.  Johnson 
dined  with  Cave,  his  publisher,  at  his  house  in  St.  John's  Gate  at 
Clerkenwell,  in  1744,  "  Siiortly  after  the  publication  of  the  Life 
of  Savage,''  and  sat  behind  a  screen,  that  another  guest  might  not 
see  his  shabby  clothing.  See  Malone's  note  to  the  Life,  1744  (i. 
163,  n,  i). — II,  tore  his  dinner.  See  the  Life,  under  August  5, 
1763  (i.  468). — 22,  %aant  of  meat.  Johnson  signed  one  of  his 
letters  to  Cave,  "  Your's,  impransns ;"  i.  e.,  "without  dinner," 
Life,  1738  (i.  137).  See  also  the  Life,  under  August  5,  1763  (i. 
468),  and  the  Tour,  October  4  (v.  284). — 24,  insincerity  of  patrons. 
An  allusion  to  the  story  of  Johnson  and  Chesterfield.  See 
Carlyle,  pp.  116-17,  and  i\iQ  Life,  1754  (i.  256-257).— 25,  l^hat 
bread,  etc.     From  Dante,  Paradiso  xvii.  58-60. 

"  Thou  shall  have  proof  how  savoureth  of  salt 
The  bread  of  others,  and  how  hard  a  path 
The  going  up  and  down  another's  stairs." 

— Longfellow's  translation. 

— 27,  deferred  hope.  Proverbs  xii.  12. — 31,  eo  ivtmitior,  etc. 
"  So  much  the  harsher,  because  he  had  endured,"  Tacitus, 
Annals  i.  20.  Said  of  Aufidienus  Rufus,  an  officer  risen  from 
the  ranks. 

44:8,  starving  girl.  See  the  Zz/^,  under  June  19,  1784  (iv. 
321).  See  Carlyle  149  :  i. — 20,  with  Mrs.  Thrale.  See  her  Anec- 
dotes, p.  45. — 25,  the  Good-natured  Man.  See  Dobson,  Gold- 
smith, pp.  130-136  ;  Thrale,  p.  98. 

45:1.  Lady  Tavistock.  From  Mrs.  Thrale's  Anecdotes,  p.  64; 
Croker  ii.  94. — g,  in  the  ordinary  intercourse  of  society.  Mis- 
placed ;  should  more  properly  follow  likely. — 13,  Holofernes.  See 
Love's  Labor  Lost  iv.  2,  etc.  "  When  the  newspapers  had  tacked 
them  [Johnson  and  Goldsmith]  together  as  the  pedant  and  his 
flatterer  in  Love's  Labour  Lost,"  Thrale,  p.  75. — 14,  Mrs.  Carter. 
Elizabeth  Carter  (17 17-1806),  a  learned  lady.  See  the  Life, 
April  20,  1 78 1  (iv.  97). 

46:12,  the  Arabian  tale.  'LdiXiQ,  Thousand  and  One  Nights,  i. 
69. 

47 ;  2,  LLogarth.     From  Thrale's  Anecdotes,  p.  58.     See  Hill 


172"  NOTES    TO   MACAU  LAY'S  ESSAY. 

iii.  229,  n.  3,  and  Psalms  cxvi.  11. — 6,  hurricane.  Thrale,  p. 
59  (Croker  iv.  3S6). — 8,  red-hot  balls.  Thrale,  p.  5S  (Croker 
iv.  3S5).  Fired  by  garrison  (1782)  in  the  thirteenth  siege  (1779-83) 
of  Gibraltar,  then  held  by  the  English  against  France  and  Spain. 
— 13,  earthquake  at  Lisbon.  November  I,  1755.  See  Thrale,  p. 
59  (Croker  iv,  386).  In  this  earthquake  and  in  the  fire  which 
followed,  between  30,000  and  40,000  persons  were  killed. — 16, 
saw  a  ghost.  Life,  April  9,  10,  1772  (ii.  178,  182). — 18,  Cock 
Layie.  See  the  Life,  under  June  13,  1763  (i.  406).  Churchill 
ridiculed  Johnson  for  this  ghost-hunt.  For  a  full  account  of  the 
Cock  Lane  ghost,  see  Harper's  Magazine,  August,  1893  (vol. 
Ixxxvii.  p.  327). — iC),John  Wesley  (1703-91).  The  founder  of 
Methodism.  See  the  Life,  under  April  15,  1778  (iii.  297),  and 
May  4,  1779  (iii-  394)- — 21,  Celtic  genealogies.  See  the  Tour, 
September  18  (v.  224-5).  The  poems  referred  to  are  the  pretended 
translations  from  Ossian  by  James  Macpherson  (1738-96),  fre- 
quently mentioned  in  the  Life  and  the  Tour. — 23,  willing  to  be- 
lieve. Life,  March  24,  1775  (ii.  318).  The  subject  is  frequently 
discussed  in  Boswell. — 30,  Lord Rosconunon.  Wentworth  Dillon, 
Earl  of  Roscommon  (1634-85),  author  of  an  Essay  on  Trans- 
lated Verse.  When  ten  years  old,  Johnson  tells,  he  had  "some 
preternatural  intelligence  of  his  father's  death  "  in  Ireland,  he 
being  at  Caen  in  Normandy.      Works  ix.  212. 

48:6,  enlarged.  Here  in  the  Biblical  sense,  "set  free,"  as  in 
Psalms  iv.  I. — 20,  stripping  the  lace.  From  Thrale,  p.  84 
(Croker  ii.  77). — 25,  Hudibras,  Ralpho.  See  Hudibras,  by 
Samuel  Butler  (1612-S0),  The  former  is  a  burlesque  knight- 
errant,  the  latter  his  squire.  Both  are  caricatures  of  religious 
fanaticism. 

49 :  3,  Campbell.  Dr.  John  Campbell,  political  and  biographi- 
cal writer  (1708-75).  See  the  Life,  July  i,  1763  (i.  418). — 10, 
Roundhead.  "  The  original  of  which  name  is  not  certainly 
known.  Some  say  it  was  because  the  Puritans  then  commonly 
wore  short  hair,  and  the  King's  party  long  hair  ;  some  say  it  was 
because  the  Queen  at  Strafford's  trial  asked  who  that  round- 
headed  man  was,  meaning  Mr.  Pym,  because  he  spoke  so 
strongly."  Baxter,  Narrative  of  his  Life  and  Times  (quoted  by 
Trench,  On  the  Study  of  Words,  Lecture  V.). — Solomon's si?igers. 


NOTES    TO   MACAULAY'S  ESSAY.  i73 

Their  names  have  not  been  transmitted.  See  2  Chronicles  v, 
12. — 22,  celebrating  the  redemption.  On  Good  Friday.  Boswell 
tells  of  tea  without  milk.  Life^  April  17,  1778  (iii.  300),  and 
April  18,  1783  (203). — 25,  patriotism.  "  Patriotism  is  the  last 
refuge  of  a  scoundrel,"  Johnson  once  said  ;  Life.,  April  7,  1 775 
(ii.  348),  It  must  be  remembered  that  there  had  been  a  political 
faction  calling  themselves  the  "  Patriots." 

50  :  6,  Squire  Western.  A  coarse,  blustering  country  squire  in 
Fielding's  Tom  Jones. — 8,  Pococurante.  Italian,  "  little  caring." 
Apparently  not  a  proper  name  here,  though  there  is  a  character  so 
named  in  Voltaire's  Candide. — 12,  zvell-knozon  lines.  See  the  Life, 
February,  1766  (ii.  5-6),  for  Johnson's  share  in  the  Traveller. 
It  was  published  in  1765.  The  lines  cited  by  Macaulay  are 
429-30. — ig,  Rasselas.  See  ch.  xxviii,  ^  2. — 21,  the  Long 
Parliament.  The  fifth  parliament  of  Charles  I.  It  sat  from 
November  3,  1640,  to  April  20,  1653, — 25,  Sir  Adam  Ferguson. 
See  the  Life,  March  31,  1772  (ii.  170),  and  Leslie  Stephen's y£?/m- 
son,  pp.  183-4. 

51  :  8.  Lord  Bacon  tells.  In  his  Apophthegms,  Old  and  New, 
§  221.  The  story  is  of  Thales,  told  by  Diogenes  Laertius,  Life  of 
Thales,  §  9. 

52  :  29,  on  the  other  side.  When  Macaulay  wrote,  the  principal 
courts  of  justice  were  held  in  Westminster  Hall,  which  adjoins 
the  chamber  in  which  the  House  of  Commons  sits. 

53:20,  Denhajn.  Sir  John  Denham  (1615-68),  architect  and 
poet,  author  of  Cooper's  Hill. — 25,  greater  man  than  Virgil.  See 
the  Life,  under  September  22,  1777  (iii.  193).  In  his  note  on  the 
passage,  Boswell  tells  of  a  debate  on  this  subject  between  Johnson 
and  Burke,  in  which  Johnson  argued  for  the  superiority  of  Homer, 
He  compares  the  two  in  his  Life  of  Dryden  {Works  ix.  425). — 
27,  preferred  Popes  Lliad.  There  is  nothing  in  Johnson's  conver- 
sations or  in  his  Life  of  Pope  to  justify  this  assertion.  Johnson 
says  that  Pope  "  made  him  [Homer]  graceful,  but  lost  him  some 
of  his  sublimity."  Works  xi.  187. — 29,  Tasso.  The  Geru- 
salemme  Liberata  (1574)  was  translated  by  Edward  Fairfax  (d. 
1635)  in  1600  ;  by  John  Hoole  in  1763.  Johnson  wrote  for  Hoole 
the  dedication  to  the  Queen.  See  the  Life,  1763  (i.  383). — 30, 
old  English  ballads.     See,  for  instance,  his  Li fe  of  Addison  :  "In 


174  NOTES    rO   MACAULAY'S  ESSAY. 

Chevy  Chase  there  is  not  much  of  either  bombast  or  affectation, 
but  there  is  chill  and  lifeless  imbecility.  The  story  cannot  possi- 
bly be  told  in  a  manner  that  shall  make  less  impression  on  the 
mind." — 32,  Percy's.  Thomas  Percy  (1728-1811),  Bishop  of 
Dromore,  published  his  Reliques  of  English  Poetry  in  1765.  He 
also  wrote  poems  in  imitation  of  the  ballad  style  ;  it  is  these  of 
M'hich  Johnson  "  spoke  with  provoking  contempt,"  Life,  April 
3,  1773  (ii.  212). 

54:4,  Tom  Jones.  Life,  April  6,  1772  (ii.  174). — Gulliver'' s 
Travels.  Life,  March  24,  1775  (ii.  319).  Johnson  said,  "  When 
once  you  have«thought  of  big  men  and  little  men,  it  is  easy  enough 
to  do  the  rest." — Tristram  Shandy.  Appeared  1760-65.  In  1776 
Johnson  spoke  of  it  in  the  past  tense:  "  Nothing  odd  will  do 
long.  Tristram  Shandy  did  not  last,"  Life,  under  March  19 
(ii.  449). — 6,  cold  commendation.  "The  last  piece  that  he  lived 
to  publish  was  the  '  Castle  of  Indolence,'  which  was  many  years 
imder  his  hand,  but  was  at  last  finished  with  great  accuracy.  The 
first  canto  opens  a  scene  of  lazy  luxury  that  fills  the  imagination." 
Johnson,  Life  of  Thomson  ( Works  xi.  232). — 9,  Blackmore. 
(1650  ?-i729).  A  voluminous  writer  of  blank  verse.  To  his 
Creation  Johnson  ascribes  a  "general  predominance  of  philo- 
sophical judgment  and  poetical  spirit."  Woj'ks  x.  213. — dialect. 
A  contemptuous  use  of  the  word,  in  the  sense  of  a  man's  customary 
set  of  terms,  as  revealing  his  prejudices  or  points  of  view. — barren 
rascal.  It  was  Fielding  whom  Johnson  so  designated  ;  Gray  he 
called  a  "dull  fellow."  Zzy>,  April  6,  1772,  and  under  March 
27,  1775  (ii-  174  and  327).  Yet  Johnson  read  Amelia  through 
without  stopping.  Life,  April  12,  1776  (iii.  43). — 10,  blockhead. 
Life,  July  i,  1763  (i.  419).  Fielding,  too,  received  this  compli- 
ment. Life,  April  6,  1772  (ii.  173). — 23,  Pope's  Epitaphs.  The 
Dissertation  on  this  subject  was  appended  to  the  Life  of  Pope, 
Works  xi.  200-218.  It  was  written  in  1756  for  the  Universal 
Visitor. — 26,  Rymer.  Thomas  Rymer  (1646-1713),  histori- 
ographer to  William  and  Mary.  His  Short  View  of  Tragedy, 
1693,  contains  his  celebrated  criticism  of  Othello. — 30,  touched 
every  post.     See  Hill's  note  to  the  Life  (i.  485,  «.  i). 

55  :  2,  Smollett.  See  the  Tour,  October  28  (v.  366).— 4,  Gold- 
smith.    See  the  Life,  June  22,  1776  (iii.  81-5).     His  epitaph  was 


NO  TES    TO  MA  CA  ULA  V ' S  ESSA  Y.  1 75 

written  by  Johnson.  Some  members  of  the  club  sent  Johnson  a 
Round  Robin,  asking  him  to  substitute  English  for  Latin,  but  he 
refused.  Burke,  Reynolds,  and  Gibbon  were  among  the  signa- 
tories.— 18,  iinfortiinate  chiefs.  Chain-mail  came  into  general  use 
in  the  fifteenth  century.  Knights  in  full  armor  who  had  been 
unhorsed  were  helpless. — 28,  Directions  to  Servants.  A  set  of 
ironical  rules  for  slovenliness  and  dishonesty,  not  published  until 
after  Swift's  death.  It  is  curious  to  speak  of  this  work  as  a  "  book 
on  the  practical  art  of  living." 

56  :  8,  rural  life.  See  Hill  (iii,  450).  Johnson  knew  a  great 
deal  about  rural  life.  His  first  twenty-seven  years  were  spent  in 
small  country  towns.  He  also  made  frequent  excursions  from 
London. — 1 1 ,  Country gentle??ien.  See  the  Tour,  August  25  (v.  108). 
— 18,  The  Athenians.  See  the  Life,  April  3,  1773,  and  March  31, 
1772  (ii.  211  and  171). 

57  :  I,  books  alone.  One  of  Macaulay's  rare  ambiguities  ;  he 
means,  "only  by  means  of  books,"  but  might  be  understood  to  in- 
tend, "  without  other  means  than  books." — 5,  Bolt  Court.  Where 
Johnson  lived  from  1776  to  his  death. — 12,  shield  of  Achilles.  See 
the  Iliad  yi\\n.  478-608. — Death  of  Argus.  See  the  Odysseyi^yii, 
290-327.  Argus  is  the  hound  of  Ulysses  ;  he  dies  of  joy  at  recog- 
nizing his  master  on  the  latter's  return  to  Ithaca. — 25,  black 
Frank.  Francis  Barber,  Johnson's  negro  servant.  Johnson  sent 
him  to  school,  as  related  in  the  Life,  April  26,  1768,  and  March 
21,  1772  (ii.  62,  146).— 32,  at  Paris.  See  note  to  4  :  15.  John- 
son spoke  Latin  ;  Life,  under  November  12,  1775  (ii.  404). 

58:6,  M.  Simond.  Louis  Simond  (1767-1831)  ;  author  of 
Voyage  d'un  Francais  en  Angleterre,  pendant  les  anne'es  18 lO  et 
i8ii  (published  in  1816). — 12,  the  sage.  Also,  "my  illustrious 
friend." — 16,  the  bills  of  mortality.  The  urban  district  compris- 
ing the  city  of  London  and  its  neighborhood,  organized  for  certain 
objects,  among  them  the  making  of  weekly  returns  of  births  and 
deaths. — 19,  Zeluco.  A  novel  (1786)  by  Dr.  John  Moore  (1729- 
1802).  The  sentences  quoted  are  from  ch.  Ixxiii. — 21,  that  there 
laiv.  The  Salic  law.  A  law  of  the  Salian  Franks  in  the  fifth 
century,  concerning  the  inheritance  of  estates  ;  first  applied  to  the 
succession  in  13 16.  By  it  women  were  excluded  from  the  throne 
of  France. 


176  A^Ol'ES    7'6>   MACAULAY'S  ESSAY. 

59 : 2,  his  Journey.  A  Journey  to  the  Western  Islands  of 
^r^/Za//^ (published  in  1775).  "Having  passed  my  time  almost 
wholly  in  cities,  I  may  have  been  surprised  by  modes  of  life  and 
appearances  of  nature  that  are  familiar  to  men  of  wider  survey  and 
more  varied  conversation.  Novelty  and  ignorance  must  always  be 
reciprocal,  and  I  cannot  but  be  conscious  that  my  thoughts  on 
national  manners,  are  the  thoughts  of  one  who  has  seen  but  little," 
Works  viii.  412. — 1 1,  fierce  and  boisterous  contempt.  See  Hill 
(iii,  449-459).  Up  to  the  age  of  fifty-three  Johnson  had  not  the 
means  to  travel.  After  receiving  his  pension  he  traveled  much  in 
England,  went  through  Scotland  and  Wales  and  visited  Paris. 
What  Johnson  ridiculed  was  the  "tour  of  Europe,"  then  part  of 
the  fashionable  education  of  youth. — 14,  Charlemont.  James 
Caulfeild  (1728-99),  Earl  of  Charlemont ;  a  member  of  the  Club. 
See  the  Life,  under  May  12,  1728  (iii.  352). — 17,  Lord  Plunkett. 
William  Conyngham,  Baron  Plunket  (1764-1854),  Lord  Chancellor 
of  Ireland(i830-35, 1835-41). —20,  Z^r^iTazV^fj.  Sir  David  Dalrym- 
ple  (1726-92).  Johnson  praises  his  Annals  of  Scotland;  Life, 
under  April  29,  1776  (iii.  58).— -22,  Robertson.  In  the  Z?y>,  1768 
(ii-  53).  Johnson  evaded  discussing  him  by  saying,  "  Sir,  I  love  Rob- 
ertson, and  I  won't  talk  of  his  book."  In  the  Zzy>,  April  30,  1773 
(ii.  236-8),  he  condemns  him  for  his  "  romance,"  his  "  cumbrous 
detail,"  and  his  "verbiage."  He  also  says,  "I  have  not  read 
Hume." — 24,  Catiline's  conspiracy.  "  I  asked  him  once  concern- 
ing the  conversation  powers  of  a  gentleman  with  whom  I  was  my- 
self unacquainted — '  He  talked  to  me  at  club  one  day  (replies  our 
Doctor)  concerning  Catiline's  conspiracy — so  I  withdrew  my  atten- 
tion and  thought  about  Tom  Thumb,'"  Thrale,  p.  36. — 25, 
Punic  war.     Thrale,  p.  36. 

60  :  14,  accidents  zvith  essential  properties.  An  accident  is,  in 
logic,  anon-essential;  "a  character  which  may  be  present  in  or 
absent  in  a  member  of  a  natural  class,"  Cent.  Diet. 

61:4,  Johnsonese,  A  word  coined  in  this  place  by  Macaulay. — 
10,  recorded  in  the  Journey.  Johnson's  Works  viii.  261.  The 
incident  happened  at  Glenelg,  in  the  Highlands.  For  the  other 
account,  see  Hill's  Letters  of  Samuel  Johnson,  i.  251. — 14,  The 
Rehearsal.  A  burlesque  play  (1672),  in  ridicule  of  Dryden  and 
Other  contemporary  dramatists.     The  principal  author  was  George 


NO TES   TO  MA CA  ULA  Y'S  ESSA  V.  1 7 7 

Villiers,  Duke  of  Buckingham  (1627-88).  See  the  Life,  under 
June  19,  1784  (iv.  320),  whence  Macaulay  drew  the  anecdote  and 
its  application. — 18,  Mannerism,  etc.  This  paragraph  is  dissected 
and  criticised  in  Minto's  English  Prose,  p.  100. 

62:5,  t^^^  king's  English.  The  expression  was  first  used  by 
Thomas  Wilson  in  his  Art  of  Rhetoric,  1553  (Minto). — 13,  great 
old  writers.  Such  authors  as  Burton,  Jeremy  Taylor,  and  Sir 
Thomas  Browne  are  probably  intended. — 18,  fable  about  little 
fishes.  From  i\iQ  Life,  April  27,  1773  (ii.  231). — 25,  Sir  Piercy 
Shafton.  An  affected  young  courtier  of  Elizabethan  times,  in 
Scott's  Monastery.  His  language,  intended  by  Scott  to  be  euphu- 
istic,  resembles  most  closely  that  used  in  Sidney's  Arcadia.  The 
allusion  is  to  the  incident  in  the  Monastery,  ch.  xxviii.,  where  Shaf- 
ton, escaping  from  custody  in  the  disguise  of  a  milkmaid,  betrays 
his  identity  by  his  answer  to  a  challenge. — Enphiiistic.  Strictly 
speaking,  in  the  style  of  the  Eitphiies  (1579-80)  of  John  Lyly,  or 
Lillie  (1554-1606).  Loosely  applied,  as  here,  to  the  "  Italianate" 
language  affected  by  other  Elizabethan  writers. — 26,  Euphelia,  etc. 
Imlac  is  the  poet  in  Rasselas.  Seged  {Rambler,  Nos.  204-5)  is  a 
monarch  who  learns  the  futility  of  planning  to  be  happy.  Euphe- 
lia, Rhodoclia,  Cornelia,  and  Tranquilla  appear  in  other  numbers 
of  the  Rambler  (42  and  46  ;  62  ;  51  ;   119). 

63 :  13,  Falstaff.  See  the  Merry  Wives  of  Windsor  iv,  2. 
Sir  Hugh  Evans's  title  by  courtesy  and  his  broken  English  are 
accounted  for  by  his  being  a  parson  and  a  Welshman. — 27,  canvass 
of  Reynolds.     In  separate  portraits  ;  not  in  any  group. 


NOTES  TO  CARLYLE'S  ESSAY. 

[The  text  is  that  of  the  original  article  in  Fraser's  Magazine 
for  May,  1832  (vol.  v.,  no.  xxviii.).  The  original  capitals  and 
punctuation  have  been  retained. 

In  connection  with  this  essay  the  introductory  article  on  Bio- 
graphy {^Fraser's,  April,  1832,  reprinted  in  the  Miscellanies)  should 
be  read.  Compare  also  Carlyle's  remarks  on  Johnson  and  Bos- 
well  in  Heroes  and  Hero-  Worship,  ch.  v.] 

65  :  I,  ALsop's  Fly.  "  It  was  prettily  devised  of  yEsop  :  *  The 
fly  sat  upon  the  axle-tree  of  the  chariot-wheel,  and  said,  "  What  a 
dust  do  I  raise  !  "  '  " — Bacon,  Essay  LIV.,  Of  Vain-Glory. — 18,  in 
very  trnth.     Very  —  veritable,  real. 

66:2,  National  Omnibus.  A  cheap  magazine,  then  in  exist- 
ence.— 4,  throats  of  brass  and  of  leather.  The  hostile  reviews 
are  compared  to  trumpets  sounding  notes  of  defiance  ;  the  friendly 
notices  are  compared  to  puffs  of  the  bellows. — 5,Io  Paeans.  'Iw 
Ilamv,  "  Hail,  Apollo  !  " — g,  zvhat  degree  of  tumult.  Ironical. 
The  Hi  a  of  cannot  be  said  to  have  been  "ushered  in"  at  all; 
Paradise  Lost  attracted  little  immediate  attention.  Carlyle's  (im- 
plied) argument  is.  Great  works  appear  without  clamor  ;  Croker's 
Boswell  appeared  with  clamor  ;  hence  .  .  .  — 21.  Johnson  once 
said.  With  reference  to  The  Spectator.  •See  the  Life,  April  3, 
1773  (ii.  212) ;  quoted  inCroker's  Preface  (I.  vi.,  «.  i).  Croker's 
edition'  came  out  forty  years  after  the  original. — 26,  voluntary 
resolution.  Ironical,  implying  that  no  one  had  asked  Croker  to 
edit  Boswell. — 27,  archives.  Here  used  in  its  primary  sense: 
place  where  records  are  kept. 

67  :  19,  reconciling  the  distant  with  the  present.  Emending  or 
annotating  the  text  where  it  appears  to  contradict  itself.  John- 
son's utterances  at  different  times  are  sometimes  inconsistent. — 

178. 


NOTES    TO   CARLYLE'S  ESSAY.  179 

23,  even  Greek.     Ironical,  as  if   this  were  a  still  greater  feat  of 
scholarship. — 28,  ^od  manners.     See  21 :  12. 

68  :  28,  express  Dissertation.  Most  writers  would  have  inserted 
"or  "after  this  word. — 31,  what  was  dark.  See  Paradise  Lost 
i.  22. — 32,  had  thereby  been  enlightened.  The  use  of  had=. 
"would  have"  and  of  «/^r^="  would  be"  is  frequent  with 
Carlyle. 

69  :  8,  punctually.  Minutely  ;  to  a  point.  Ordinarily  only  of 
time. — 16,  Carteret.  See  note  to  17  :  18. — 20,  Ma  foi,  monsieur. 
"  Faith,  sir,  our  happiness  depends  upon  the  way  that  our  blood 
circulates."  See  the  Zzy>,  1759  (^-  3431  Croker  i.  333).  Croker 
errs  in  ridiculing  Boswell's  French,  though  in  literary  style  dont 
would  be  substituted  for  que. 

70  :  22,  Pudding  .  .  .  Praise.  See  the  Dunciad,  i.  54. — 27, 
Is  it  not.     Croker  i,  66,  n.  i. 

72  :  2,  Four  Books.  See  note  to  22  :  6. — 6,  sextum  quid.  "  A 
sixth  something." — 9,  virtue.  Power. — 20,  cup  and  the  lip. 
Proverbially,  "  There's  many  a  slip  'twixt  the  cup  and  the  lip." 
Consult  a  classical  dictionary  under  Ancceus. — 25,  Entire.  Por- 
ter.    See  the  Cent.  Diet.  s.  v.  "  entire." 

73  •  3'  ^^^  Moralists.  Something  like  this  doctrine  is  to  be  found 
in  Leibnitz. — 6,  How  much  more^  etc.  Not  clear.  Carlyle  means 
to  say  that  Croker's  failure  is  owing  not  so  much  to  his  not  having 
done  enough,  as  to  his  utter  unfitness  to  perform  his  task  properly, 
despite  his  industry. 

74:10,  solid  pudding.  Cf,  note  to  70  •  22. — 32,  Shakspeare 
Jubilee.     Cf .  note  to  27  :  8. 

75 : 4,  The  very  look.  Referring  to  a  sketch  or  caricature  of 
Boswell  by  Sir  Thomas  Lawrence,  the  frontispiece  to  Croker's 
fourth  volume. — 15,  flunky.  The  Cent.  Diet,  explains  this  word 
as  Scotch,  and  "recent  in  literature,"  giving  besides  the  present 
passage  a  citation  from  Burns. — 22,  Touchivood.  A  chcwacter  in 
the  farce  of  What  Next?  (1816)  by  John  Thomas  Dibdin  (1771- 
1841). — 23,  Auchinleck.  Alexander  Boswell,  father  of  the  bio- 
grapher. "  Pronounced  ^j^/f/c/^,"  Life,  under  January  10,  1776 
(ii.  413).  This  story  and  others  were  communicated  to  Croker  by 
Sir  Walter  Scott.  See  Jennings,  Crokei-'s  Correspondence  and 
Diaries,  ii.  28-34. — 24,  land-louper.    Runabout  ;  cf.  Ger.  luufen. 


I  So  NOTES    TO   CARLYLE'S  ESSAY. 

76  :  18,  Gamaliel.  See  Acts  v.  34. — 19,  pedigrees.  Boswell 
claimed  descent  from  the  Bruce,  and  kinship  with  George  III. 
Tour,  August  15  (v.   25,  n.   2),   and  November  4  (v.   379). — 27, 

^rst  sheriff  appointed.     Of  Wigtonshire,  1743.     Boswelliajia,-^.  5. 

77  :  8,  gigmatiity.  A  coinage  by  Carlyle.  The  present  passage 
is  the  earliest  in  which  it  was  actually  printed.  The  trial  of  the  mur- 
derer John  Thurtell  took  place  in  1823  ;  see  DeQuincey's  Works, 
ed.  Masson,  xiii.  43,  n.  2,  Carlyle  never  tired  of  this  allusion  ; 
he  rings  endless  changes  on  "gigs,"  "  gigmen,"  "  gigmania," 
"  gigmanity  with  its  thousand  gigs,"  "gigimnity  disgigged," 
"  anti-gigmanic,"  "  gigmanism,"  etc. 

78  :  13,  poor  rusty-coated  '''scholar."  See  Hill's  Dr.  Johnson  : 
his  Friends  and  his  Critics  {A/r.  Carlyle  on  Boswell).  In  1763 
Johnson  was  already  the  leader  of  the  literary  world,  had  an 
income  larger  than  Boswell's  allowance,  and  numbered  among  his 
friends  men  of  the  highest  rank. — 16,  the  glass  of  fashion.  See 
Hamlet  iii.  I,  121 — 28,  innumerable  observers.  See  Hatnlet  iii. 
I,   122, 

79  :  4,  Feast  of  Tabernacles.  See  Leviticus  xxiii.  33-44. — 8, 
blind  old  zvoman.  Mrs.  Williams,  so  called  by  brevet.  See  the 
Life,  October  26,  1769  (ii.  99  and  «.  2),  where  Boswell  retracts 
this  unpleasant  charge. — 29,  Llenry  Erskine.  This  story  in 
Scott's  annotations  to  the  l^our,  Croker  ii.  274,  n.  The  "  Outer- 
House  "  is  the  great  hall  in  the  "  Parliament-House  "  at  Edinburgh, 
the  building  in  which  the  high  courts  of  justice  of  Scotland  sit. 

80  :  10,  welters.  A  frequent  word  with  Carlyle,  of  vague  sig- 
nificance. The  metaphor  here  is  not  clear. — 23,  Hero-worship. 
This  word  represents  one  of  Carlyle's  principal  dogmas.  See 
Lferoes  and  Hero-  Worship. — 27,  martyr.  In  its  etymological 
sense  of  zvitness  {iidprvQ). 

81  :  3,  which  the  Supreme  Quack  should  inherit.  In  which  the 
greatest"  impostor  should  have  the  most  prosperity. — 5,  yellow 
leaf.  See  Macbeth  v.  3,  23. — 6,  Prophet.  In  the  sense  of 
"  spokesman,"  not  that  of  "  foreteller  of  the  future."  Boswell  is 
meant. — 11,  treacle.  In  allusion  to  the  proverbial  custom  of  sweet- 
ening with  syrup  the  edge  of  the  cup  from  which  a  bitter  potion 
must  be  drunk.  See,  for  instance,  Lucretius,  iv.  11. — 18,  an  in- 
corruptible.    See  I  Corinthians  xv.  53. 


NOTES    TO   CARLYLE'S  ESSAY.  i8l 

82  :  2,  Johnsoniad.  Coined  by  Carlyle  in  imitation  of  Iliad. 
The  comparison  of  the  Life  to  the  Odyssey  originated  with  Bos- 
well  ;  see  his  Advertisement  to  the  Second  Edition  (i.  12). — 21, 
Thus  does,  etc.  This  paragraph  is  unnecessarily  complicated  by 
the  side-remark,  "  in  which  .  .  .  there  well  might  ".  (83:1-3.) 
This  digression  omitted,  the  argument  is  as  follows  :  "  Boswell's 
character  was  a  mixture  of  good  and  evil  :  so  is  that  of  every  man, 
and  can  be  symbolized  by^  union  of  god  and  beast.  Thus  the 
Greeks  represented  Pan,  their  god  of  Nature,  as  half  god,  half 
goat.  Now  man  may  be  regarded  as  the  epitome  of  the  universe, 
unless,  indeed,  as  Idealism  holds,  the  universe  itself  is  only  the 
creation  of  mind.  In  either  case,  what  is  in  substance  true  of  the 
world  is  equally  true  of  the  human  mind.  The  peculiarity  in 
"Boswell's  case  was  a  lack  of  amalgamation  :  his  good  and  evil 
qualities  existed  side  by  side,  in  apparent  incompatibility," — 28, 
All,  or  Pan.  Greek  ■nav,  "all":  IJdv,  "Pan."  Cf.  Faust  ii. 
1261  : 

Das  All  der  Welt 
Wird  vorgestellt 
Im  grosser!  Pan. 

83  :  2,  panic  Awe.  ^eina  rraviKov,  the  term  applied  by  the 
Greeks  to  the  unaccountable  fear  which  sometimes  seizes  an  army 
in  battle.  Pan's  voice  was  believed  to  be  able  to  cause  such  fear. 
— 6,  fearful  and  wonderful.  See  Psalms  cxxxix.  14. — waste 
fantasy.  "  '  This  mad  Universe,'  says  Novalis,  '  is  the  waste  pic- 
ture of  your  own  Dream.'  "  Latter-Day  Pamphlets,  vii. — 21,  cat- 
tle on  a  thousand  hills.     Psalms  1.  10. 

Z^',1,  Prolegomena  .  .  .  Scholia.  Keeping  up  the  comparison 
of  the  Life  to  an  epic. — 22,  import  of  Reality.  See  Carlyle's  essay. 
Biography.  The  ' '  speculation  '  on  the  import  of  locality '  "  is 
an  extract  from  a  fictitious  work  :  "  Professor  Gottfried  Sauer- 
teig's  yEsthetische  Springwiirzel"  {''  ^^sthetic  Picklocks,"  Carlyle 
explains). 

86:  II,  local  habitation.  See  Midsummer  Alight' s  Dream  v.  i. 
17. — 15,  Critics  insist,  etc.  More  idiomatically,  "  Critics  insist 
much  that  the  poet  should,"  etc.,  or  "  demand  of  the  poet  that,'' 
etc. — 17,  transcendental.     Intended  in  the  Kantian  sense,  "  apart 


1 82  NOTES   TO   CARLYLE'S  ESSAY. 

from  space  and  time,"  but  the  passage  cannot  be  definitely  para- 
phrased. 

87  ;  3,  thesis.  Here  accurately,  in  the  sense  of  proposition; 
often  used  loosely  for  dissertation. — 18,  bootjacks.  The  word 
must  here  mean,  "servants  who  pull  off  boots."  The  word  in 
this  sense  is  not  in  the  dictionaries,  but  is  so  used  by  Thackeray, 
Esmond,  ch.  i, — 29,  Prosperous  air-vision.  See  The  Ternpesi  iv. 
i.  131.  « 

Z^li^slozver.  Adjective  for  adverb. — '],  Edict  of  Destiny.  In 
imitation  of  the  phrase,  "revocation  of  the  edict  of  Nantes." — 
25,  Smolletts.  Besides  his  novels  he  wrote  a  History  of  Eng- 
land.— Belsharns.  William  Belsham  (1752-1827),  the  author  of 
some  political  essays,  and  of  a  History  of  Great  Britain  to  the 
Conchisio7i  of  the  Peace  of  Amiens  in  1802. 

88 :  28,  IValpole,  etc.  The  ministries  here  mentioned  held 
office  between  1721  and  1784.  The  list  is  not  complete  or  chrono- 
logical. 

89 :  3,  enclosure-bills.  For  acquiring  possession  of  waste  or 
common  lands  (1801  and  1845), — 8,  sat  in  Cha^icery.  The  Lord 
Chancellor  is  the  head  of  the  English  judicial  system.  As  speaker 
of  the  House  of  Lords,  he  sits  upon  the  Woolsack. — 13,  specific — 
levity.  Parody  of  "  specific  gravity." — 32,  had  their  being.  Acts 
xvii.  28. 

90  : 4,  Mr.  Senior  and  Air.  Sadler.  Nassau  William  Senior 
and  Michael  Thomas  Sadler,  two  contemporary  writers  on 
political  economy.  Senior's  Three  Lectures  on  Wages  and  Sad- 
ler's Law  of  Population  both  appeared  in  1830.  The  latter  was 
"  smashed  "  by  Macaulay. 

91  :  2,  yEneas  Sylvius.  Eneo  Sylvio  Piccolomini  (1405-64), 
Pope  Pius  II. — 5,  the  Reformation.  See  Heroes  atid  Hero- Wor- 
ship for  Carlyle's  treatment  of  John  Knox. — 21,  Mary  Sttiart. 
Carlyle  commends  the  biography  of  Johnson  as  better  than  any 
history  of  England  ;  he  then  condemns  Robertson's  history  of 
Scotland  for  being  only  a  biography  of  Mary  Stuart  and  Darnley. 
A  biography  of  John  Knox  would  probably  have  satisfied  him. 

92  :  3,  with  burning  candle.  Illuminated,  from  the  inside,  like 
a  transparency.  A  similar  expression  in  Latter-Day  Pamphlets^ 
p.  300. — 31,  dialects.     Cf.  note  to  54  :9. 


NOTES   TO   CARLYLE'S  ESSAY.  183 

93  :  II,  Father  of  Lies.  See  Jo-hn  viii.  44. — 16,  taking  notes. 
Allusion  to  Burns'  lines,  On  Captain  Grose's  Peregrinations 
through  Scotland  : 

"  If  there's  a  hole  in  a'  your  coats, 
I  rede  ye,  tent  it  ; 
A  chiel's  amang  ye  takin'  notes, 
And  faith,  he'll  prent  it." 

— 21,  needs  not  care.  Need  is  more  usual. — 31,  or  inserted. 
Sarcastically,  implying  that  the  heedless  talker  is  likely  to  become 
a  felon. 

94:1,  Halfness.  A  translation  by  Carlyle  of  the  German 
Halbhcit. — 8,  Watch  thy  tongue.  See  Proverbs  iv.  23. — 32,  ass- 
skin.  Boswell  of  course  wrote  on  paper  ;  parchment  is  made  of 
sheepskin.  Carlyle  employs  the  word  ass-skin  for  its  ludicrous 
effect. 

95 :  6,  iron  leaf.  In  Past  and  Present  (III.  x.  3)  Carlyle 
whites  :  "  Things,  as  my  Moslem  friends  say,  '  are  written  on  the 
iron  leaf.' "  The  Koran  mentions  recording  angels,  but  tells 
nothing  of  their  writing  on  iron. — 13,  nnich-endtning  man.  The 
translation  of  the  common  epithet  of  Ulysses,  tcoA.vt^mq. 

96:8,  Natus  sum,  etc.  "  I  was  born  ;•  I  hungered,  I  sought  ; 
I  rest  now,  having  taken  my  fill." 

98  :  3,  fact  which  tue  owe.  We  owe  to  Jean  Paul  not  the  fact, 
but  its  observation  and  record. — -Jean  Paul.  Johann  Friedrich 
Richter.     See  Carlyle's  essay  on  him. 

100:1,  Vanity- fair.  See  \h^  Pilgrim's  Progress^  Part  I. — 9, 
Popinjays.     See  Scott's  Old  Mortality,  ch.  ii. 

101  :  14,  believe  and  tremble.     See  James  ii.  19. 

102  :  18,  hujuan  face  divine.  "  A  confession,  said  to  have  been 
made  by  him,  that  he  never  saw  the  '  human  face  divine,'  "  Haw- 
kins, p.  33.  See  Paradise  Lost  iii.  44. — 32,  Ariel,  Caliban. 
See  The  Tempest. 

103:4,  the  fewest  men.  After  the  German,  wenigsten. — 26, 
A  chacun,  etc.  "  To  each  according  to  his  capacity  ;  to  each 
capacity  according  to  its  works."  One  of  the  maxims  of  the  social- 
istic writer,  Claude  Henri,  Comte  de  Saint-Simon  (1760-1825). 
At  this  time  (1829-32)  there  was  actually  a  Saint-Simonian  com- 
munity, founded  by  some  of  his  followers. 


184  NOTES    TO   CARLYLE'S  ESSAY. 

104  :  16,  His  favorites,  etc;  From  the  Life,  1712  (i.  47). — 25, 
blubber.  The  same  as  ' '  blubberer. " — 31 ,  The  child  is  father  of  the 
man.     From  Wordsworth's  lines,  beginning,  "  My  heart  leaps  up." 

105  :  8,  Corporal  Trim.  Uncle  Toby's  orderly  in  Tristram 
Shandy.  See  vol.  iii.  ch,  42-43,  for  the  "auxiliary  verbs";  they 
are  not  Trim's  but  Walter  Shandy's.  They  practically  mean  every 
possible  question  that  can  be  asked  on  a  given  subject. — 30,  in- 
quires Sir  John.  The  extract  is  from  his  Life,  p.  ii.  The  story 
is  also  told  by  Boswell  in  the  Life,  173 1  (i.  76).  Carlyle  selects 
Hawkins's  account  in  order  to  ridicule  it. 

106  :  10,  Dr.  Hallretnarks.  In  a  note  communicated  to  Croker 
(i.  46,  n.  I  of  his  edition  of  the  Life).  Dr.  Hall  was  the  Master 
of  Pembroke  College,  Oxford,  at  this  time.  As  to  Carlyle's  com- 
ments, Hill  disposes  of  them  {Friends  and  Critics,  pp.  24-25)  by 
pointing  out  that  the  students  dined  in  common.  "Whatever 
was  Johnson's  want  of  proper  clothing  and  of  ready  cash,  he  lived, 
so  far  as  food  went,  as  the  accounts  show,  in  the  same  way  as  his 
fellow-students."  Johnson  was  a  commoner  (Hawkins,  p.  59). — 
19,  he  further  discourses.  Hawkins's  Life,  p.  18.  In  the  orig- 
inal, "  civil  policy,"  not  polity. 

107 '5'  perfect  through  suffering.  See  Hebrews  ii.  10. — 8, 
Translation.  Into  Latin,  of  Pope's  Messiah,  which  is  itself  an 
imitation  of  Vergil's  fourth  eclogue,  the  Pollio.  See  the  Life, 
1728  (i.  61). — 17,  Market  Boszvorth.  See  the  Life,  1732  (i.  85-86), 
whence  Carlyle  borrows  the  expressions  quoted,  except,  "re- 
linquishes, etc.,"  which  is  from  Hawkins,  p.  21. — 21,  Samson. 
StQ  Judges  xvi.  21. 

108  :  I,  this  Letter.  From  the  Life,  1734  (i.  91-92). — 2,  Sylva- 
nus  Urban.  So  Cave  (whose  first  name  was  Edward)  called  him- 
self in  his  capacity  as  editor  of  the  Gentleman's  Magazine. — 24,  Go 
thou,  etc.  Ltike  x.  37. — 26,  five  pounds.  For  his  translation 
from  the  French  of  Lobo's  V^oyage  to  Abyssinia. 

109  :  17,  At  Edial,  etc.  The  advertisement  inserted  by  Johnson 
in  the  Gentleman  s  Magazine,  1736  {Life  i.  97). — 23,  Dr.  Parr. 
Samuel  Parr  (i 747-1 825),  Master  of  Harrow,  mentioned  here  as 
a  typical  bookworm. — 28,  Cromwell  do?  etc.  One  of  Scott's 
stories  ;  cf.  note  to  75 :  23. — gart  kings  ken  that  there  was  a  lith. 
"  Made  kings  know  that  there  was  a  joint." 


NOTES    TO   CARLYLE'S  ESSAY.  185 

IIO  :  8,  Pactohis.  A  small  stream  of  Lydia,  flowing  from  Mt. 
Tmolus  and  emptying  into  the  Hermus.  In  ancient  times  its  bed 
was  said  to  contain  gold-dust. — 13,  not  of  Ephesus  ;  i.  e.,  in  some 
modern  city.  See  Acts  xix.  35. — 2^^  first  Writers.  That  is,  in 
England. — 27,  Otway.  I'homas  Otway  (1651-85),  author  of  the 
tragedies  Venice  Preserved  and  The  Orphan.  It  is  said  that  he 
was  choked  by  some  bread  which  he  devoured  in  a  rage  of  hun- 
ger.— 2g,  Scrogginses.  Scroggen  is  the  poet  in  Goldsmith's  short 
poem,  A  Description  of  an  Author's  Bedchamber^  which  Carlyle 
here  quotes. 

Ill:  3,  Mr.  Boyce.  Samuel  Boyse  ;  see  note  to  43:  18. — 
II,  carpe  diem.  "Seize  the  day";  make  hay  while  the  sun 
shines.  Horace,  Odes  I.  xi.  8. — 28,  Caves  temper,  etc.  Haw- 
kins, pp.  45-48,  49-50. 

113  :  24,  lord  of  the  lion  heart.     Smollett,  Ode  to  Independence. 

114:26,  Msecenasship.  "Patronage";  from  Maecenas,  the 
patron  of  Horace. 

115  :  I,  some  third  method.  Carlyle's  prophecy  has  not  yet  been 
fulfilled. — 14,  toga  virilis.  The  "  garb  of  manhood,"  assumed  by 
Roman  boys  at  sixteen,  when  they  came  of  age. 

116:25,  the  wages  of  sin.  See  Rotnans  vi.  23.  Patronage 
involved  lying,  and  lying  is  moral  death,  according  to  Carlyle. 

117:1,  Seven  years,  etc.  See  note  to  43:24.  This  is  the 
latter  part  of  Johnson's  letter  to  Chesterfield,  February  7,  1755, 
provoked  by  learning  that  the  earl  was  the  author  of  an  anony- 
mous complimentary  notice  of  the  Dictionary  in  a  miscellany 
called  The  World. — ^,  one  act  of  assistance.  Croker  was  puzzled 
by  Boswell's  admission  that  Johnson  had  at  one  time  received  ten 
guineas  from  Chesterfield,  but  there  is  no  inconsistency  ;  Johnson 
had  received  no  assistance  during  the  seven  years  since  he  had 
been  repulsed.  The  money  must  have  been  given  in  1747,  w^hen 
the  Plan  of  the  dictionary  was  published. — 7,  The  shepherd  in 
Virgil.  See  the  Eclogues  viii.  43-45. — 14,  solitary.  Alluding  to 
the  death  of  his  wife,  which  had  occurred  in  1752. 

118  :  12,  vizards.  Alluding  to  the  ancient  Athenian  custom  of 
actors  on  the  stage  wearing  masks. — 14,  vTzoKpcTr/g.  "Actor," 
but  inserted  by  Carlyle  with  suggestion  of  its  later,  post-classical 
meaning,  "  hypocrite." — 22,  idol-cavern.     In  Bacon's  sense  of  the 


1 86  .VOTES    TO    CARLYLES  ESSAY. 

word  "  idol,"  as  "  false  notion."  "  Idols  are  the  deepest  fallacies 
of  the  human  mind.  .  .  Idols  are  imposed  upon  the  understand- 
ing, either,  i.  by  the  general  nature  of  mankind  ;  2.  the  nature  of 
each  particular  man  ;  or  3,  bywords,  or  communicative  nature  .  .  . 
idols  of  the  tribe  (tribus)  ...  of  the  den  {species),  of  the  market 
{fori).  There  is  also  a  fourth  kind,  which  we  call  idols  of  the 
theatre  {iheairi),  being  superinduced  by  false  theories  or  philoso- 
phies .  .   . 

"The  idols  of  the  den  have  their  origin  .  .  .  from  education, 
custom,  and  the  accidents  of  particular  persons,"  Advancement 
of  Learning,  v.  4,  p.  207  (Bohn). — 23,  What  is  Truth?  See 
Bacon,  Essays,  I.,  Of  Truth,  dLwdJohn  xviii.  38. 

119  :  20,  simulacra.     "  Images." 

120:  12),  Bolingbrokes.  Henry  St.  John,  Viscount  B.  (1678- 
175 1 ),  author  of  various  political,  historical,  and  philosophical 
writings. —  Tolands.  John  Toland  (1679-1722),  author  of 
Christianity  not  Mysterious  (1696). — 16,  Bayle.  Pierre  Bayle 
(1647-1706),  French  philosopher  and  critic. — 27,  Trulliber.  In 
Fielding's y<7j-^//  Andrews  (bk.  ii.  ch.  xiv.)  :  "  Mr.  Trulliber  was 
a  parson  on  Sundays,  but  all  the  other  six  days  might  more 
properly  be  called  a  farmer.  .  .  The  hogs  fell  chiefly  to  his 
care,"  etc. 

121  :  18,  infant  Hercules.  Said  of  Johnson  by  Boswell,  Life, 
May  9,  1773  (ii.  260). 

122  :  7,  a  Charles.  Charles  II. — '^,  Jeffries.  George  Jeffreys, 
Baron  Jeffreys  of  Wem  (1648-89).  As  chief  justice  of  the  court 
of  King's  Bench,  presided  at  the  trials  of  Russell  and  Sidney. 
Lord  Chancellor  under  James  II. — 9,  Russel,  Sidney.  William 
Russell,  Lord  Russell  (1639-83) ;  Algernon  Sidney  (or  Sydney) 
(1622-83);  beheaded  for  alleged  complicity  in  a  plot  for  "com- 
passing the  death  of  the  king." 

124  :  16,  a  Burke  ;  or  a  Wilkes.  A  statesman  or  a  demagogue. 
John  \Yilkes  (1727-97)  was  several  times  expelled  from  the  House 
of  Commons  by  a  ministry  to  whom  he  w^as  obnoxious,  and 
re-elected  by  the  county  of  Middlesex. 

125  :  10,  provision  for  the  day.  See  note  to  37 :  25. — 29, 
Phlegethon,  etc.  Phlegethon  {^Tisyeduv,  "  blazing ")  was  a  river 
of  fire  in  Hades.     Fleet-ditch,  once  a  river,  is  a  London  sewer. 


NOTES    TO   CARLYLE'S  ESSAY.  187 

Carlyle  occasionally  uses  "  mud  "  as  a  contemptuous  prefix  \  e.  g., 
mud-gods.  "Mother  of  dead  dogs"  is  a  nickname  of  the 
Thames  ;  though  that  can  hardly  be  intended  here. 

126:11,  assurance  of  a  Man.  See  Hamlet  iii.  4,  62. — 13, 
confusion  worse  confounded.  Paradise  Lost  ii.  996. — 22,  redeem- 
ing the  ti??ie.  See  Colossians  iv.  5  ;  Ephesians  v.  15-16. — 28,  the 
whole  world.     See  Matthew  xvi.  26. 

127  : 6,  transcendental.  All-transcending  ;  supreme. — 12,  au- 
thentic Symbol.  The  English  Church.— 13,  waxing  old,  etc. 
Hebrews  i.  ii  ;  Psalms  cii.  26  ;  Isaiah  1.  9,  li.  6. — 15,  Pillar  of 
Fire,  '^qq  Exodus  yC\\\.  21. — \t>^  witnesses.  Martyrs  ;  see  note  to 
80  :  27. — 24,  inferior  lights.  The  sun  and  moon. — 32,  St. 
Clement  Danes.  The  church  where  Johnson  worshiped.  See  the 
Life,  April  9,  1773  (ii.  214). 

128  :  9,  qtdt  him  like  a  man.     See  Samuel  iv.  9. 

129  :  22,  hewing  of  ivoody  etc.  StQ  Joshua  ix.  21  ;  Deut.  xxix. 
II. — 23,  sedentary.  With  special  allusion;  see  112:7. — 28, 
Parliamentary  Debates.  The  "  Senate  of  Lilliput  "  Debates  for 
the  Gentle fuaiz' s  Magazine.  See  the  Life,  1738  (i.  115-118)  and 
1741  (i.  150).     See  also  Hill's  Appendix  A  to  vol.  i.  (i.  501-512). 

130 : 3,  impransus.  See  note  to  43  :  22. — 4,  grain  of  mustard- 
seed.  See  Matthezv  xiii.  31  ;  Mark  iv.  31  ;  Luke  xiii.  19. — 10, 
Fourth  Estate.  The  public  press. — i^,  behind  the  screen.  See 
note  to  43  :  3. — 19,  his  praise  spoken.     For  the  Life  of  Savage. 

131 :  2,  his  Wife  mttst  leave  him.  Not  related  by  Boswell,  but 
an  inference  from  the  story  of  Johnson's  walking  the  streets  all 
night  with  Savage,  or  from  an  otherwise  incredible  story  in 
Hawkins  (p.  89)  of  an  estrangement  between  Johnson  and  his 
wife,  so  that  "  while  he  was  in  a  lodging  in  Fleet  Street,  she  was 
harbored  by  a  friend  near  the  Tower." — 13,  Gentleman  of  the 
British  Museum.  See  Croker  v.  -^Zo.—i^,  Old  Mortality.  In 
Scott's  novel  of  the  same  name,  an  itinerant  antiquary,  who 
cleaned  the  moss  from  grave-stones  and  restored  the  epitaphs. — 
31,  Tempus  edax  rerum.  "  Time,  the  devourer  of  (all)  things." 
Ovid,  Metamorphoses  xv.  234. — 32,  ferax.     "  Productive." 

132:13,  He  said,  etc.  Quoted  from  the  Life,  1737  (i.  105). 
The  speaker  is  "an  Irish  painter,"  whom  Johnson  knew  at  Bir- 
mingham and  was  interrogating  as  to  the  expense  of  London  life. 


1 88  NOTES   TO   CARLYLKS  ESSAY. 

— 24,  Giaours  «;2^  Harolds.  The  Giaour  i\%\'}^  2l\\6,  Childe  Harold 
(i8t2,  1S16,  1818),  both  by  Byron. — On  another  occasion.  From 
Thrale,  p.  23  (Croker  i.  169). — 25,  his  own  Satire.  The  Vanity 
of  Human  Wishes,  in  which  occurs  the  well-known  couplet : 

Yet  mark  what  ills  the  scholar's  life  assail, 
Toil,  envy,  want,  the  Patron,  and  the  jail. 

For  Patron  had  originally  stood  garret. — 32,  Hercules.  At  one 
time  went  mad,  according  to  legend. 

133:16,  the  Brick  Desert.  Evidently  London. — 26,  being, 
"  Because  he  was." — 31,  Constantine  s-banner .  Constantine,  A.  D. 
312,  marching  at  the  head  of  his  army,  is  said  to  have  seen  in  the 
sky  a  cross,  with  the  words,  "  In  hoc  signo  vinces  "  ("  In  this  sign 
thou  wilt  conquer "),  whereupon  he  embraced  Christianity  and 
adopted  the  cross  and  motto  as  his  standard. 

134  :  12,  killed  by  a  review.  Alluding  to  the  death  of  Keats 
(1821). 

136  :  2,  inspired-idiot.  See  note  to  29  :  i. — 3,  as  Hawkins  says. 
Hawkins,  p.  416. — 8,  the  gooseberry-fool.  So  Goldsmith  humor- 
ously termed  himself  in  Retaliation  :  a  Poem,  written  as  a  reply  to 
Garrick's  "  Poor  Poll "  epitaph.  This  nonsense-epithet  is  really 
the  name  of  a  dish,  and  the /<?<?/ is  allied  with  the  French  fouler, 
"  press,  crush." — 14,  E>r.  Minor,  Dr.  Major.  So  Goldsmith  and 
Johnson  were  respectively  dubbed  by  the  Rev.  George  Graham 
(d.  1767),  assistant  master  at  Eton  and  author  of  Telemachus,  a 
Mask.  Tour,  August  24  (v.  97). — 19,  worthy.  Boswell  often 
calls  Langton  "  our  worthy  friend." — 21,  could  not  stop.  Life, 
May  9,  1773  (ii.  262). — 30,  Thralia.  So  Johnson  Latinized  Mrs. 
Thrale's  name  in  his  verses  written  in  Skye  : 

Thralise  discant  resonare  nomen 
Littora  Skiae. 

Tour,  September  6  (v.  158). 

137  :  3>  Highland  Lairds.  In  Skye  ;  Tour,  September  27 
(v.  261). — 5,  Mr.  F.  Lewis.  The  Rev.  Francis  Lewis,  who 
translated  some  mottoes  from  Latin  for  the  Rambler.  Johnson 
afterward  described  him  as  given  in  the  text.     Life,  1750  (i.  225). 

^ — 7,  res  gestse.  "Affairs  transacted." — 9,  Stat  parvi,  etc,  "  The 
shade  stands  of  a  little  name."     Lucan  says  of  Pompey  {Phar- 


NOTES    TO    CARLYLE'S  ESSAY.  189 

salia  {.  135),  "  Stat  magni  nominis  umbra,"  "of  a  mighty 
name." — 17,  sotne  ancient  slaves.  See  Exodtis  xxi.  6  ;  Dent.  xv. 
16-17. — 25,  Supreme  Priest.  Archbishop.  Carlyle  allows  the 
archbishop  an  expenditure  of  ;!^3 1,200  a  j'ear  and  the  bishop 
a  salary  of  ;^66oo  a  year. — 27,  Church-Overseer,  Bishop  ;  the 
word  is  derived  from  the  Greek  eTciaKOTog,  "  over-seer." — 28, 
secular  Administrators.  Lords  lieutenant,  and  magistrates,  of 
counties. — 29,  Horse-subduers,  and  Game-destroyers.  The  landed 
gentry  and  aristocracy,  whom  Carlyle  is  fond  of  ridiculing  for 
their  devotion  to  sport  and  their  indifference  to  the  "  condition- 
of-England  question."  "  Horse-subduers"  is  in  imitation  of  the 
Homeric  epithet  LTcirodaiioq. — 30,  Primates.  The  Archbishop  of 
Canterbury  is  called  "  Primate  of  all  England,"  and  the  Arch- 
bishop of  York,  "  Primate  of  England." 

138  :  32,  What  I  gave,  etc.  Carlyle's  alteration  of  a  sentiment 
sometimes  found  in  old  epitaphs,  to  the  effect :  "  What  I  spent, 
I  have  ;  what  I  saved,  I  have  lost." 

139  :  I,  Early  friends,  etc.  Of  Johnson's  friends,  Savage  died 
in  1743  ;  Richardson  in  1761  ;  Goldsmith,  1774  ;  Garrick,  1779  ; 
Beauclerk,  1780  ;  Thrale,  1781. — 13,  To  estimate,  etc.  More 
idiomatically,  "  The  quantity  of  work  .  .  .  can  never  be  accu- 
rately estimated." 

141  :  27,  Continental  Subsidies.  The  subsidies  granted  to  the 
sovereigns  of  the  Continent  by  the  younger  Pitt  during  the  struggle 
against  the  French  Revolution  and  Napoleon. 

1/^2 '.  1,  Diderots.  Denis  Diderot  (1713-84),  chiefly  famous 
for  his  work  upon  the  EncyclopMie  Methodique  (1751-72). — ii, 
Chalk- Farm.  The  popular  dueling  ground  in  the  first  part  of  the 
present  century.  The  last  fatal  duel  at  Chalk  Farm  was  in  1843. 
On  Primrose  Hill,  north  of  Regent's  Park  in  London.  Hare, 
ii.   141. 

143:  15,  Whiskerando.  The  name  is  taken  from  that  of  Don 
Ferolo  Whiskerandos  in  Sheridan's  Critic. — 23,  Peterloos.  "  The 
Field  of  Peterloo  "  ;  St.  Peter's  Field,  near  Manchester,  where,  in 
1819,  July  16,  a  reform  meeting  was  dispersed  by  the  yeomanry 
cavalry. 

144  :  3,  bravest  of  the  brave.  The  term  applied  to  Marshal  Ney 
by  his  soldiers. — 11,   Giant   Despair.      See  the    Pilgrim's  Prog- 


190  NOTES    TO   CARLYLE'S  ESSAY. 

ress,  first  part. — 12,  Golgotha.  See  Mark  xv.  22. — Sorcerer'S'- 
Sabbath.  The  witches'  festival  on  the  Brocken  on  May-day  eve. — 
11,  Jlaiinting  in  the  ring.  Boswell  is  compared  to  a  young  knight, 
disporting  himself  in  the  pastimes  of  chivalry. — tarrying  by  the 
wine-cup.  See  Proverbs  xxiii.  30  and  the  note  to  28  : 2. — 30, 
Welshwoman.     Mrs.  Williams. 

145:  I,  Doubting-castle.  Giant  Despair's  abode,  where  Chris- 
tian and  Hopeful  were  imprisoned  and  beaten. — 4,  zvith  frigid 
indifference.  From  the  last  ^  (tenth  page)  of  the  Preface  to  the 
Dictionary. — 8,  By  popular  delusion.  "  Illiterate  writers  will  at 
one  time  or  another,  by  publick  infatuation,  rise  into  renown,  who, 
not  knowing  the  original  import  of  words,  will  use  them  with  col- 
loquial licentiousness,  confound  distinction  and  forget  propriety." 
Preface  to  Dictionary  (last  ^  of  ninth  page). 

146  :  6,  accidental.  See  note  to  60  :  14. — 13,  Whitfield.  George 
Whitfield  (1714-70),  a  Methodist  popular  preacher,  with  the 
Wesleys  from  1734  to  1741.  Frequently  mentioned  in  the  Life. 
— 14,  lives,  moves,  etc.  See  Acts  xvii.  28. — 19,  Clear  your  mind 
of  Cant.     Seethe  Life,  May  15,  17S3  (iv.  221). 

147:  16,  worthy  of  his  hire.  See  Luke  x.  7. — 24,  Apocalyptic 
Bladder.  Grotesque  parody  of  the  "  apocalyptic  vials "  ;  see 
Revelation  xv,,  xvi.  The  modern  art  of  advertising  or  "puffing" 
often  furnishes  Carlyle  with  a  subject  for  declamation. 

148  :  3,  shaggy  exterior.  Goldsmith  said  of  Johnson,  "  He  has 
nothing  of  the  bear  but  his  skin."  Life,  under  May  28,  1768 
(ii.  66). — II,  Ark  of  the  Covenant.  See  Exodus  xxv.  10-22  ; 
XXX vii.  1-9. — laid  hand  on  them,  See  I  Chronicles  xiii.  g-io  ;  2 
Samuel  \i.  6-7, — 32,  on  Dead  Asses.  In  A  Sentimental  Journey^ 
vol.  i.  {Nampont^. 

149  :  2,  Daughter  of  Vice.  See  note  to  44  :  8. — 4,  good  Samar- 
itan. See  Luke  x.  25-37, — 6,  multitude  of  Sins.  See  i  Peter  iv. 
8. — II,  widows  mite.  See  Mark  xii.  41-44. — 21,  Salve  magna 
parens.  "  Hail,  great  mother,"  Vergil,  Georgics  II.  173,  in 
apostrophe  to  Italy.  In  the  original  edition  of  Johnson's  Z)/V/^/^/n 
ary,  vol.  ii. ,  appears  among  the  definitions  : 

"  LiCH.  n.  s.  [lice,  Saxon.]  A  dead  carcase  ;  whence  .  .  . 
Lichfield,  the  field  of  the  dead,  a  city  in  Staffordshire,  so  named 
from  martyred  Christians.     Salve  magna  parens,'' 


NOTES    TO    CARLYLE'S  ESSAY.  191 

Lice  should  be  lie  (Anglo-Saxon). 

150 'S*  Sunday,  October  18,  etc.  Quoted  by  Boswell,  Life, 
1767  (ii.  43),  from  Johnson's  Praye7's  and  Meditations.  See  note 
to  15  I  22. — 23,  '  Once,  indeed,'  said  he.  These  sentences  are 
from  the  Life,  under  August  12,  1784  (iv.  373). — 31,  ''  Madavi,  1 
beg  your  pardon,''  etc.  This  extract  is  an  abridgment  by  Carlyle 
of  a  passage  from  Warner's  Tour  through  the  Northern  Counties 
of  England  (1802),  which  he  found  in  Croker  v.  288,  n.  3.  John- 
son is  represented  as  thus  excusing  himself  to  "the  lady  of  the 
house  "  that  he  visited  on  the  occasion  of  his  last  trip  to  Lichfield, 
for  an  unannounced  absence  of  an  entire  day.  The  last  sentence 
of  the  extract  Carlyle  took  from  Boswell's  account,  which  is  some- 
what different.  For  an  American  account  of  a  visit  to  Lichfield 
and  Uttoxeter,  see  Hawthorne's  Our  Old  LLotne,  fifth  essay. 

151  :  14,  moonlight  of  tnemory.  Carlyle  uses  the  phrase  in  his 
Journal,  February  8,  1835,  and  adds,  "a  pathetic  phrase  of 
Richter's."  Froude,  Carlyle  in  London,  i.  17. — 22,  life's  fitful 
fever.     See  Macbeth  iii.  2,  2-3. 

152  :6,  the  right  foot.  Life,  1764  (i.  484). — 20,  lady-msitors. 
The  visitor  in  question  was  the  Comtesse  de  Boufflers,  who  visited 
England  in  1763.  The  story  is  told  in  the  Life,  under  November 
5>  1775  (ii-  405). — 30,  A  gentleman  who,  etc.  From  Recollections 
of  Dr.  Johnson,  by  Miss  Reynolds  (Croker  v.  391,  in  his  General 
Appendix). 

153  :  8,  Renny  dear.  Miss  Frances  Reynolds  (1727-1807),  sister 
of  Sir  Joshua.  Johnson  speaks  of  her  as  Renny  in  his  letters  to 
Mrs.  Thrale. — 15,  Bru?nmellean.  From  George  Bryan  Brummell 
(1778-1840),  known  as  Beau  Brummell.  Famous  dandy.  He 
had  left  England  in  18 16. — 21,  with  his  king.  George  IIL 
See  the  Life,  February,  1767  (ii.  33-42). 

154  :  15,  grew  with  his  growth,  etc.  See  Pope's  Essay  on  Man, 
135-136. 

155*  7)  good  yeomen.  See  Henry  V.  iii.  i,  25-26. — i^,  John 
Bull.  So  Boswell  had  called  him  ;  Tour,  introduction  (v.  20). 
— 16,  Clergytnan.  "  Hume  owned  to  a  clergyman  in  the  bishop- 
rick  of  Durham,  that  he  had  never  read  the  New  Testament  with 
attention,"  Life,  1766  (ii.  9). — 18,  Voltaire's  lackey.  Life, 
1763  (i.  434).  — 19,  acerrimi  ingenii,  etc.     "  Of  keenest  intellect, 


192  NOTES    TO   CARLYLE'S  ESSAY. 

and  of  little  learning."  Life^  under  November  5,  1775  (ii.  406). 
— 20,  Rousseau.  Johnson  said  he  ought  to  be  irajtsported ;  Life, 
1766  (ii.  12). — 23,  milking  the  Bull.  An  old  proverbial  metaphor 
for  fruitless  speculation.  Johnson  used  it  of  "  Hume  and  other 
sceptical  innovators."  Life.,  1763  (i.  444). — 26,  UAlemberts.  Jean 
le  Rond  D'Alembert  (1713-84),  associated  with  Diderot  in  the 
production  of  the  EncyclopMie — 28,  kitchen-latin.  Not  in  the 
dictionaries ;  a  translation  by  Carlyle  of  the  German  Kuchen- 
latein,  "  dog-latin." — 29,  Editiones  Principes.  First  editions  (of 
the  classics).  Life,  October  31,  1775  (ii.  399). — Monsheer  Nong- 
tongpaw  !  Evidently  meant  to  represent  a  British  mispronuncia- 
tion of  Monsieur  N'eniend-pas,  "  Mr.  Doesn't-understand."  The 
connection  with  what  precedes  is  not  clear. 

'^S^'-'^'S^  ^^^^^'h'  ^/^^^^ ^'^^'^^y^^^''  Johnson,  1709  ;  Hume,  1711. 
— 22,  7vith  the  bayonet,  etc.  Quoted  from  Memoirs  of  Johiison, 
by  Richard  Cumberland;  l^di^itr'sjohjtsoniana,  p.  211. 

157  :  23,  Bartholomew-Fair.  The  Smithfield  cattle-fair,  orig- 
inally held  on  the  eve  of  St.  Bartholomew's  Day,  the  day  itself, 
and  the  day  after.      Established  under  Henry  I.;  abolished  1852. 

15S  •  7>  ^^^  '^^^  meet.  In  1769  they  once  called  on  Boswell  on 
the  same  day  ;  Boswelliana,  p.  61. — 20,  tie  the  shoe-latchets.  See 
Mark  i.  7. 


THE    END. 


lenoUsb  IReaMngs  tor  Stubente. 

This  collection  is  planned  to  supply  English  master- 
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Coleridge :  Prose  Extracts. 

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De  Quincey :  Joan  of  Arc  and  The  English  Mail 
Coach. 

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I 


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features  of  his  style.  Allusions  and  other  points  of  un- 
usual difficulty  are  explained  in  the  notes.  This  volume 
and  the  one  containing  the  Essays  on  BoswelFs  JoJmsoji 
(see  below)  are  used  at  Cornell  University  as  foundation 
for  elementary  rhetorical  study. 

Dryden :  Select  Plays. 

Edited  with  a  brief  introduction  and  notes  by  James  W.  Bright, 
Assistant  Professor  in  the  Johns  Hopkins  University.  About  loo 
pp.     i6mo.     \In  pi^eparation.^ 

Aside  from  their  representing  the  principal  literary  ac- 
tivity, in  point  of  quantity,  of  one  of  the  foremost  English 
writers,  Dryden's  plays  have  a  peculiar  interest  in  having 
been  among  the  first  to  be  played  upon  the  reopening  of 
the  theatres  under  Charles  II. 

Goldsmith :  Present  State  of  Polite  Learning. 

Edited  with  introduction  and  notes  by  J.  M.  Hart,  Professor  in 
Cornell  University.     About  loo  pp.     i6mo.     \In  preparatioti.'\ 

There  are  many  reasons,  some  of  them  obvious,  for 
giving  this  essay  a  place  in  the  English  Readings  series. 
One  that  may  be  mentioned  is  the  remarkably  clear 
insight  it  affords  into  the  entire  eighteenth-century  way 
of  criticising.  The  introduction  and  notes  will  direct 
the  student's  attention  along  this  line  of  observation. 

Lyly :  Endimion. 

With  introduction  and  notes  by  George  P.  Baker,  Instructor  in 
Harvard  College.     i6mo,  pp.  cxcvi  -\- 109. 

Lyly's  plays  really  show  him  to  a  better  advantage  than 
does  the  Euphues^  by  which  he  is  chiefly  remembered> 
and  his  place  in  English  dramatic  history  makes  it  de- 
sirable that  one  at  least  should  be  easily  accessible. 


English  'Readings  for  Students. 


Macaulay    and    Carlyle  :    Essays    on    Samuel 
Johnson. 

The  complete  essays,  with  introduction  and  notes  by  William 
Strunk,  Jr.,  Instructor  in  English  in  Cornell  University,  xl-figi 
pp.     i6mo.     Boards. 

These  parallel  treatments  of  Croker's  editing,  and  of 
the  characters  of  Boswell  and  Dr.  Johnson,  afford  an 
unusual  opportunity  for  comparative  study.  The  two 
essays  present  a  constant  contrast  in  intellectual  and 
moral  methods  of  criticism  which  cannot  fail  to  turn  the 
attention  of  students  to  important  principles  of  biographi- 
cal writing,  while  equally  important  principles  of  diction 
are  impressively  illustrated  in  the  two  strongly  marked 
styles.  The  essays  also  offer  an  excellent  introduction 
to  the  study  of  the  literary  history  of  Johnson's  times. 

Marlowe  :  Edward  II.     With  the  best  passages  from 
Tamburlaine  the  Great,  and  from  his  Poems. 

With  brief  notes  and  an  introductory  essay  by  Edward  T.  Mc- 
Laughlin, Professor  in  Yale  College. 

Aside  from  the  intrinsic  value  of  Edivard  II.,  as  Mar- 
lowe's most  important  work,  the  play  is  of  great  interest 
in  connection  with  Shakespere.  The  earlier  chronicle 
drama  was  in  Shakespere's  memory  as  he  was  writing 
Richard  II.,  as  various  passages  prove,  and  a  comparison 
of  the  two  plays  (sketched  in  the  introduction)  affords 
basis  for  a  study  in  the  development  of  the  Elizabethan 
drama.  Since  Tamburlaine  has  really  no  plot  and 
character-development,  extracts  that  illustrate  its  poeti- 
cal quality  lose  nothing  for  lack  of  a  context.  The 
unobjectionable  beginning  of  Hero  and  Leander  is  per- 
haps the  finest  narrative  verse  of  the  sixteenth  century. 


English  'fadings  for  Students, 


Specimens  of  Argumentation.     I.  Classic. 

Chosen  and  edited  by  George  P.  Baker,  Instructor  in  Eng:lish 
in  Harvard  College,  and  Non-resident  Lecturer  on  Argumentative 
Composition  in  Wellesley  College.   {Iti  p)-eparation.'\ 

Specimens  of  Argumentation.     II.  Modern. 

Chosen  and  edited  by  George  P.  Baker.  i6mo.  186  pp. 
Boards. 

This  compilation  includes  Lord  Chatham's  speech  on 
the  withdrawal  of  troops  from  Boston,  Lord  Mansfield's 
argument  in  the  Evans  case,  the  first  letter  of  Junius, 
the  first  of  Huxley's  American  addresses  on  evolution, 
Erskine's  defence  of  Lord  George  Gordon,  and  an  ad- 
dress of  Beecher's  in  Liverpool  during  the  cotton  riots. 
The  choice  and  editing  has  been  controlled  by  the  needs 
of  the  courses  in  "  Forensics"  in  Harvard  College.  The 
earlier  selections  offer  excellent  material  for  practice  in 
drawing  briefs,  a  type  of  such  a  brief  being  given  in  the 
volume.  The  notes  aim  to  point  out  the  conditions 
under  which  each  argument  was  made,  the  difficulties  to 
be  overcome,  and  wherein  the  power  of  the  argument 
lies.  It  is  thought  that  the  collection,  as  a  whole,  will 
be  found  to  contain  available  illustrations  of  all  the  main 
principles  of  argumentation,  including  the  handling  of 
evidence,  persuasion,  and  scientific  exposition. 

HENRY  HOLT  &  CO.,  Publishers,   New  York. 


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